Spaceman's Lullaby
by tprillahfiction
Summary: Spock and McCoy are taken prisoner where they undergo terrible medical experiments and torture by the captors. McCoy is forcibly impregnated. They escape by jumping through a portal which dumps them back in time (in 1941) into the town of Long Beach, CA. While they wait for the enterprise to rescue them, they must adapt to the early 20th century and their feelings for each other.
1. October

**Title:** Spaceman's Lullaby

**Rating:** M

**Pairings and Characters:** Spock/McCoy, McCoy/OFC, Spock/OFC, various OC's, Kirk, Sulu, M'Benga

**Summary:** Mr. Spock and Dr. McCoy are taken prisoner where they undergo terrible medical experiments and torture by the captors. McCoy is forcibly impregnated. The two escape by jumping through a portal which dumps them back in time (in 1941) in the seaside town of Long Beach. While they wait for the enterprise to rescue them, they must adapt to the early twentieth century. The move into a cheap rooming house, survive on menial jobs, try not to change history, all the while dealing with the impending World War II, McCoy's pregnancy and their developing attraction for one another. Time is running out. Their only hope is that the Enterprise can rescue them before McCoy gives birth.

**Kinks:** mpreg, hurt/comfort, time travel, romance

**warnings:** mpreg, forced orgasm/molestation, minor character death (not Spock, McCoy or baby), horror themes, triggery scenes, swearing throughout, psychological torture, implied physical torture, blood, graphic C-Section, 1941 style racism and homophobia. Some het kissing. Contains NON EXPLICIT slash.

Acknowledgements:

* * *

**_October_**

**_He could forget nothing; vivified were visions & past desires of bloodletting; memories were all too vivid; too close to whittling away reality._**

**_—Civa_**

They materialized approximately twenty centimeters too high. McCoy hit the ground first with Spock landing squarely on top of him. "Ow. Get off me, you're heavy."

"Oh…" Spock whispered as he looked around, dazed for a moment. He rolled off McCoy and quickly scrambled to his feet.

They appeared to now be on a planet, outdoors, in a location quite different and several degrees warmer to where they'd originated. No more alien abductors. No more medical torture facility. No more sea of white.

Spock's gaze dropped to McCoy, still coiled into himself on the ground. "Doctor, can you stand?"

"Huh?" The man was wide eyed, seemingly disoriented.

"Stand up."

"Oh...alright...yeah." Spock wound an arm around his waist, helping him up. "Goddammit." McCoy winced and groaned with the effort. "Are you alright, Spock?"

"I am well enough."

McCoy grabbed at Spock's hand. "You're bleeding."

Spock pulled his offending digit away. "Dr. McCoy, I implore you to study our surroundings."

They stood on the perimeter of some sort of municipal field packed with what appeared to be families of humans or humanoids of all ages. A group of those curious figures had been watching them but now moved a fair distance away. A huge wooden sign said: 'Bixby Park'. Cheerful sounds from what sounded like a live brass band played in the were gathered on the grass, eating food from picnic baskets, playing ball games, the atmosphere appearing very jovial.

The cloudy blue sky overhead seemed to be darkening, most likely late afternoon or early evening. Damp, thick fog rolled in. Tall, flexible palm trees swayed in the wind. Spock found himself shivering, trying to minimize it, acutely aware that they were still clad in only flimsy white medical gowns from the medical facility and nothing else. The grass poked and the soil underneath it squished under their bare feet.

"Toto, something tells me we're not in Kansas anymore," McCoy quipped.

"Fascinating. We must be in the vicinity of a large body of water. I hear waves crashing."

McCoy seemed to perk up at this point. "Oxygen, nitrogen, CO2 combinations feel about right. Having any trouble breathing, Spock?"

"Negative."

"Earth?" McCoy wondered. "Of the past?"

Spock shook his head. "We cannot be on Earth. It is most likely some type of simulation. The medical facility was too far away for travel to Earth to be possible."

"Where ever we are, how'd we even get here?"

Spock eyed the man curiously. "I escaped through a portal."

"Nice goin'. Well, we've made a wrong turn, now we need to get back."

They searched for any irregularity in the air, anything to suggest an opening they could return through. "See anything, Spock?"

"I do not."

"Maybe we're better off, here, for the moment."

As they surveyed the scene in front of them, wandering around, attempting to get their bearings, more locals stopped and stared, pointed while snickering and hurtling cat-calls. Mostly young men clad in ancient military or military style uniforms. Older men sauntered by wearing suits, white shirts, ties, wool trousers and hats, they said nothing but also ogled, mouths agape.

"What the hell you starin' at?" McCoy shouted at the onlookers.

"Doctor." Spock touched him on the arm. "This way."

They eventually stumbled over to the nearby intersection of two-laned, asphalt paved streets, the signs proclaiming them: 'Cherry' and 'Broadway Avenues', the soft grass underfoot suddenly shifting to a hard, uncomfortable gravel.

A policeman began to follow them, the man clearly attempting to be casual but alerted to the fact the strangers were unusual. Spock nudged McCoy again and they moved along with the throng of humanoids carrying beach chairs.

"Maybe we should ask directions?" McCoy asked. "In any town like this, it's almost a cliche, there's gotta be some type of homeless or rescue mission around someplace." They halted when they reached 'Ocean Avenue.' "Now which way?"

A pair of comely young females with interesting hairstyles, clad in grey wool dresses carrying handbags to match, walked close by. The women wore high heels, panty hose or stockings with the seams running down the backs of their legs. One was blonde, the other brunette with shoulder length hair. "Excuse me, Miss…" McCoy called to the brunette, beckoning them over. The women looked from McCoy to Spock, shrieked, then ran away, high heels clacking.

"Well, that didn't work," McCoy grumbled. "Damned pointy ears."

Spock sighed.

A middle aged gentleman, dark hair salted with grey, aged perhaps sixty, stood at the corner waiting for the light to change. "Well, look at you two." The man let out a vulgar wolf whistle as he noticed the dried brown blood on McCoy's gown, then down at their bare legs and feet. "Just escape from 'Harimann Jones'?"

"'Harimann Jones'?" Spock asked.

"The hospital," the man said. "Right behind us."

"Something like that," McCoy replied.

The man indicated Spock's ears. "Or the freak show?"

"Sir, by any chance do you know where we can get a hot meal and a bed or some clothing?" Spock asked.

"You guys in the service?"

"We might be." McCoy threw Spock a sideways glance.

"Try the 'Y'. They love sailors."

"The 'Y'?"

"Or the Seaman's mission. First and Lime." The man inched away from them as soon as the light changed.

"Now, just wait a minute," McCoy hissed. The man stopped short. "Just how do we get to this Seaman's Mission?"

"You don't know where First and Lime is?"

"We wouldn't be asking you if we did."

"Alright, alright. No need to get testy. Ship just dock or something?"

"Huh?"

"Go down 'Ocean', that way, past 'Alamitos'," the man pointed out, "you'll hit 'Lime'. Go one block east, then you'll hit 'First'. Fifteen minute walk from here, give or take." He looked at Spock again. "The freak show's further down, at 'The Pike'." He burst out in laughter.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Here's another serious question. What's today's date?"

"Sunday," the man said.

"The date," McCoy reiterated, more insistently.

"The twelfth."

"Of what?"

"Listen, fellas…" The man cleared his throat, his eyes shifted back and forth. "I gotta go. See ya around." He scampered off across the street without waiting for the light to turn red. A black, early twentieth century ground car slammed on it's brakes, nearly hitting him honking it's horn.

"Idiot."

* * *

_"oh, god... somebody help me!"_

* * *

Ocean Avenue-a major thoroughfare lined on one side by high rise buildings and the other by grassy knolls dotted with the ever present swaying palm trees, rose above a intermittently visible coastline with its cream colored sandy beach and bright blue water.

"This whole place reeks of combustion engines, heavy flowery perfume and tobacco smoke from tobacco pipes or cigars and cigarettes." McCoy wrinkled up his nose as they walked. "I remember my great-grandfather used to smoke a pipe, the only one in the neighborhood who did, the odor reminds me of him. The automobiles are running on gasoline. My Mustang used to run on that old fuel."

"Mustang? A horse?" Spock asked.

"No, no. My old Earth ground car I had in med-school. It was an antique, made in 1971. Wonder what year we're in."

"This is not Earth."

They stopped at the intersection with 'Alamitos Boulevard', in front of a large, multi-storied gothic looking structure called the 'Via Rivera'. The found a newspaper dispenser at the entrance of the structure. Spock read out the engraving on the metal: "'Long Beach Independent Newspaper. Fifteen cents'."

"Well, I know there's a city called 'Long Beach' on Earth. However, are we in California, Florida or New York? Got fifteen cents on ya, Spock?"

"I possess precisely as much money as you do, Doctor."

"Anybody looking?" McCoy popped open the dispenser and pulled out a newspaper. He read the text for a few moments with Spock looking over his shoulder. "Sunday, October 12, 1941?" He turned to Spock, his eyes as wide as saucers. "Well...Their news stories seem authentic enough." He read aloud some of the headline story: "'Nazi powers invade Russia.' I'm no history scholar, but this seems…seems about right, Doesn't it? Long Beach, California, at the beginning of World War Two?" McCoy folded up the newspaper, handing it to Spock. "Hang onto this."

"We have not paid for-"

"No shit."

* * *

_'…dear god, no, no, no!'_

* * *

Further along, now on 'Linden Avenue', Spock spotted a brown fedora lying abandoned on the sidewalk. It appeared new enough. Perhaps it had recently fallen off of someone's head. He bent down to retrieve it.

"What the hell are you doing?" McCoy demanded.

Spock brushed off a light layer of dust and placed it gingerly upon his own head. It proved a little too large but it provided an added advantage of sinking down lower than it should, taking attention away from his ear tips. "I am endeavoring to make use of this discarded head covering."

"Are you insane? I can't believe you just did that! Imagine the colony of lice infested in that thing. If we're really on Earth in 1941, how am I going to get rid of them? You'll be itching for-God. And," McCoy added, dryly, "when you bent over just now, in that medical gown of yours, you mooned the whole side of that street. Is hiding your ears worth all of that? You look ridiculous."

Spock ignored that. "Come, Doctor. The mission building cannot be much further along, if the gentleman was to be believed."

* * *

_'...help me...please...help me…!'_

* * *

They managed to become quite lost and were again forced to ask directions from skittish residents, the eyes gravitating as if pulled by a magnet towards their unfortunate attire and the dried blood.

They got the information they required then backtracked until finally they reached their intended destination.

"Goddamned inadequate street signs! How the hell were we supposed to know we'd passed 'Lime'?"

* * *

_'i'm you're wicked uncle ernie...'_

* * *

They reached the Seaman's Mission, a huge red brick building teeming with hundreds of young men dressed in blue, white or green uniforms or civilian attire. Many were hunkered around a large wooden object with knobs and a speaker on the front of it, listening to a crackly 'news'-like broadcast. Obviously a radio. Others lounged around reading newspapers, playing cards or conversing.

The mission seemed reluctant to assist them. Never the less the newcomers were welcomed inside, if not with some underlying suspicion.

They joined a short line for charity clothing. To obtain the articles one was made to dig in a large box for articles that might fit them. Somehow this act seemed humiliating, but there was no other way. They found two sets of trousers that might fit, two pairs of black leather shoes with holes in the soles, mismatched dark socks also with holes in the toes, yellowing white undershirts and shorts, two button up white shirts, two wool ties and jackets. All of it was very worn and smelled of 'mothballs' as Spock had heard a nearby man refer to it.

An attendant then handed over two towels and pointed. "Shower room is that way."

"'No single showering. Four men at a time only. Eight minutes maximum'," said the sign posted on the wall. Other men stood outside the door, laughing and joking as they waited their turn. Spock and McCoy fell in behind them.

After a wait of about twenty minutes they entered the small shower room, with two others accompanying them, shutting the door.

A wave of fear prickled in Spock's mind and he halted before disrobing. He glanced at the two other nude men already silently engaged in washing their bodies.

_water...water...everywhere...raining upon him...cannot breathe...cannot breathe..._

"'S'matter, Spock? Not gonna take a shower?" McCoy whispered. "You need to clean yourself up."

"I shall perform my ablutions in the restroom sink."

"Modest? I don't know why you would be at a time like this."

The doctor was of course correct, this sudden reluctance of his to shower was completely irrational, but being in the vicinity of a running spray of water now felt completely unnerving.

"Come on, Spock, it's just water. Time's a wasting," McCoy called at him, gently.

"I shall...refrain."

"Alright, suit yourself."

McCoy himself proved particularly shy after removing his medical gown, turning his back to Spock and the two other men.

Spock slipped off his own and immediately dived into the proffered clothing. He pointedly ignored McCoy's labored sigh under the water stream: "Feels good, Spock. It's warm."

The doctor dried himself off, quickly sliding into the leftover clothing while Spock scooped up the discarded medical gowns. At least they now might fit in to this society. He placed the previously obtained hat upon his head and they headed out.

On the way to the men's toilets, Spock noticed McCoy asking the towel attendant for a few basic first aid supplies. The man handed McCoy some white tape and gauze.

They carried on into the large bathroom facility, also filled to bursting with other men. They found a sink with a tiny mirror, pushing through the throng to get in front of it. Spock pulled his shirt and undershirt off, studying himself in the reflection. His neck and shoulder were covered in contusions. He could not remember how he'd gotten them.

McCoy noticed, met his eyes but said nothing. He reached over and bandaged up Spock's hand. McCoy then removed his own shirts. Ugly red slashes ran across his thoracic region. Spock raised an eyebrow at the sight.

"Minor injury. I'll be fine," McCoy told him.

They dressed then trudged with the other men to the kitchen where the cook pushed over two bowls of watery potato soup, bread and coffee. They found a table that had two adjoining seats available. Neither of them touched the coffee and they merely picked at the soup and bread.

McCoy soon excused himself to use the toilet.

Spock busied himself with the remainder of the day's paper at the table while waiting for him:

**"The Germans have claimed new successes on both the central and southern fronts last night while Russian army officials admitted the gravity of the situation around Vyasma and Bryansk. A special communique from the headquarters of Adolf Hitler asserted that the bulk of the Ninth and 18th Soviet armies had been crushed in fighting in the south near the Sea of Azov. The communiqué said 64,325 Russian prisoners and quantities of war material had been captured in the final stage of the battle. Soviet prisoners taken in the south since September 26 were numbered at 106,000." (1)**

After a wait of approximately ten minutes, McCoy finally emerged. He asked the attendant for a glass of water and gulped it down.

"Attention," a loud speaker called out, silencing the din. "Tonight we are filled to capacity. No more beds are available. If you have not already been assigned a bed, we shall not be able to accommodate you."

"Now what do we do?" McCoy asked.

An extremely young sailor standing along side of McCoy replied: "You new here?"

"Yeah. We're a little lost."

"Know the feeling, Buddy. It's okay, Pops, this is a great town. You have some choices, either go back to your ship-"

"Not possible," Spock told the man.

"Or a hotel."

"No money," McCoy said.

"Or there's the park or the beach. I'd pick the beach if I was you. A little nicer. Don't forget to steal a blanket on your way out."

* * *

_'oh look! father gibbs is bringing some of my flowers to you. he looks just like george, doesn't he? oh mother gibbs, i never realized before how troubled and how...how in the dark live persons are. look at him. i loved him so. from morning till night, that's all they are...troubled...'_

* * *

They dropped down on the sand near the Pine Avenue and Rainbow Piers, huddling up underneath the solitary blanket. The waves of the Pacific crashed on shore every few moments. The air possessed that unique salty ocean scent.

They lay back, starring up at the inky night sky dotted with stars.

"Sure is windy," McCoy said.

"It is."

"The star constellations look exactly right. Luna is in the correct position. Full moon tonight. Waves are breaking just like they should."

"This cannot be Earth."

"Why couldn't it be?"

"We were far too many light years from Earth."

"Just because you refuse to believe it, doesn't make it impossible. Look, there's Venus. Tell me that's not really Venus."

Spock sighed. "It cannot be."

"There's Ursa Minor. In the correct spot."

"I see it."

"There's Ursa Major, Cygnus. Look there's Arturus, and there's the Altair system. And there's Virgo, near Saturn, right where it should be for this area of Earth during this time of year."

"Indeed."

"Those two men in the shower with us. They looked definitely human. Nothing odd about them. Well, as much as I could observe without gettin' myself beat up."

"Perhaps."

"And there's kids here, Spock. Everywhere, children, babies, teenagers."

"So there are."

"If this is fake, they'd have to fake all the kids, too. How often have you seen faked Earth Humanoid cultures that included children? They usually forget that little detail. The kids."

McCoy did have a point. "I am not precisely certain of our true location," Spock said. "This may well be Earth."

"Okay, now we're getting somewhere. You're the mission commander, what are we doing here? Do we stay close, so Jim can find us, or move as far away from that portal so the captors don't?"

Spock considered this for a moment. "I suggest we stay close to the entry point. We should not be here for a long interval."

"Assuming we really are on Earth, in the year 1941, how's Jim going to locate us?"

"I do not know. Most likely he has just become aware we are missing. He will undoubtably be searching the surrounding systems."

"Yeah…but in contemporary time. He won't find us anywhere. He can't be certain precisely where and when to look!"

"True."

"I know Jim, he'll find a way."

"That he will."

"Jesus Christ." McCoy rubbed his face with his hands. "We're a goddamned needle in a haystack!"

"If we have truly landed Earth of the past, we must avoid changing history at all costs. Otherwise there will be no Jim Kirk, no Enterprise, no Starfleet and we shall become trapped here. People will die and children born who should not have been."

"Just from little old us, huh?" McCoy hesitated, then said: "Spock, why would our captors even have a portal trained on this point in Earth history? Why Earth for that matter?"

"Any answer I can give would purely be speculation. They have not continued to pursue us."

"That we know of," McCoy said. "They got everything of ours: Shuttle, tri-corders, equipment, phasers, communicators."

"That they did."

"Spock?"

"Yes, Doctor?"

"I can't remember. What happened? You rescued me, then dove into a portal?"

"Correct."

"I can't…I can't remember. The last thing I remember was..." McCoy shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment, swallowing.

"You were barely conscious."

"Yes. Well, whereever we are, survival is the first order of business. We'll need to find jobs so we can buy food and clothing. We need a place to stay. It sure does remind me of Earth of the past, from what I've seen in images. Maybe it can't be Earth-God, I hope it isn't-but it's damn near perfect a copy."

"We have traveled to Earth of the past before."

"And this place doesn't remind you of old Earth?"

"There are many differences, however we have presumably landed ten years later."

"Yeah. You and Jim had to come rescue me in 1930's New York. Keep me from saving poor Edith Keeler."

"Her death was necessary to avoid changing history."

"So you keep reminding me."

They fell silent for a few moments.

McCoy groaned as he rose to his feet. "I wish we could make a campfire."

"Where are you going?"

"To relieve myself in the Pacific Ocean, Mr. Spock. You stay here, unless you want to wade in freezing sea water." McCoy removed his shoes and socks and bent over to roll up his wool trousers. "Tide's out."

"I can see that."

"Good for you." McCoy stomped off towards the dark water. He stood at the edge, far enough away, so that Spock could only see the back of him. He finally returned with wet feet covered in sand. He collapsed down heavily next to Spock, crawling underneath the blanket. He shivered violently for a few moments until Spock inched closer to him.

They'd had to share body warmth on other emergency occasions planet-side before so McCoy did not utter any verbal protest. However the doctor had never had been the first one to offer, rather he always followed Spock's lead and moved closer, till they were in close proximity but barely touching.

"Look at that thing, over there," McCoy pointed out. An amusement park, a short distance away, with what appeared to be a huge wooden contraption built over the water. Delighted shrieking from patrons could be heard. "It's beautiful all lit up like that. They don't make them like they used to. I've only seen them in old museum photographs."

"Roller coasters," Spock supplied.

"You know what they're called?"

"I have a passing interest in the physics and mechanics of roller coasters."

"I would suggest you ride it to satisfy your curiosity, Mr. Spock, but it doesn't appear to be very safe, now does it?"

"It does not."

"I wouldn't be able to keep Jim away from that rickety thing."

"Agreed."

"There's 40 Eridani." McCoy pointed up, a smug look on his face.

"Why so it appears."

"Still don't fully believe we are on Earth, do you."

"I do not."

"Well, fine. Suit yourself."

At the distant foghorn, McCoy sighed and closed his eyes. Under the moonlight, the inherent exhaustion was readily apparent on the man's face. His awkward movements and oddly deflated demeanor of late seemed incongruent to his usual state. Obviously he suffered from blood loss or perhaps had retained some painful internal damage from his injuries or psychological damage from their abduction.

Spock was about query him when there came the sound of loud snoring. He felt the man creep even closer to him in slumber, seeking out body warmth even more. He had to admit he welcomed this closer contact as the temperature quickly dropped lower on the beach.

Even after the ordeal at the medical facility that had held them captive, Spock refrained from anything other than keeping awake. It could not be safe to sleep out in the open, at this time, especially with the doctor's deep exhausted nap, even if the beach appeared deserted. He let himself fall into a light mediative trance however, easy enough to do while watching the waves break.

_'….no please n—!' the scream cuts off. the resulting silence therein, chilling._

_he recognizes the sound of that voice. mccoy._

_the chief medical officer had long ago proved himself to be strong, emotional and stubborn in ordinary times. the man had also proved himself capable of being as stoic as a vulcan in dire situations. he never has been one to beg, even for his life._

_the fact that he does so now, is... heartbreaking._

_he fights against the restraints that hold him down. it is of no use._

_they had anticipated his strength._

_curiosity finally overtakes him. he glances down at himself. he is nude. interesting. his enterprise issued blue tunic, black shirt, trousers and boots are nowhere in sight. he lays prone on a medical cot. hooked up to monitors. not unlike the sickbay of the enterprise._

_however, this is no uss enterprise._

_blinding white. walls, floor, illumination. icy cold. the scent clinical. no blankets or covering. the light grows brighter and brighter. he cannot shield his eyes, closing them does not block out the brightness. it is painful._

_what do they want with him and McCoy? he does not know._

_all he does know is that he is completely helpless and vulnerable-_

A throat cleared. Spock opened his eyes at the sound.

Sol, or whatever sun was truly up, shone brightly in the sky. He must have dozed off sometime during the night. His head felt bare. He reached around for the fedora and discovered it missing. He looked up, noticed a policeman standing above them, arms folded, the upside down red face scowling.

He nudged McCoy, who snorted awake. They scrambled to their feet.

"It is against the law to sleep on the beach overnight," the officer informed them.

"We weren't sleeping," McCoy croaked, rubbing his eyes. "Just watching the sunrise."

"Uh huh," the cop replied. "With your eyes closed?"

"Our apologies officer," Spock said. "We lost track of time."

"Doing what? You two were cuddled up like a couple of cats."

McCoy coughed. "It was cold."

The cop stared a hole through Spock, of course. "What do you call those things?"

"I call them ears."

"Are you trying to be funny?"

"Never, Sir."

"I should arrest you two for vagrancy. Or for buggery."

"Buggery? What?" McCoy snapped. "What are you talking about?"

"Homosexual activity on the beach."

"Because we were cuddling in the cold?" McCoy asked. "Oh, Christ."

"Knock off the swearing and move along, you two. Get some hair cuts while you're at it. Especially you, sir. Long hair like that. Not in my town. 'Iowa by the sea', you know. We're respectable folks around here."

"Iowa? This ain't Iowa. Alright, alright, alright." McCoy put his hands up and they stumbled off, endeavoring to put a large distance between themselves and the beat cop.

"I suggest, Dr. McCoy, that you speak to the uniformed authorities of this place with bit more respect, they can and will arrest us if they so desire."

McCoy sighed. "Buggery."

* * *

_'how troubled the living are...the dead are much nicer, don't you agree?'_

* * *

Back at the Seaman's Mission they stood searching the meager job listings posted with simple straight pins on a large, light brown cork board.

"I suppose working as a surgeon is out, or physician," McCoy said, his mouth moving into a grimace. "Or university teaching or research fellow."

"We obviously should avoid any highly skilled technical, scientific, military or medical specialties," Spock replied. "To avoid any tampering with history, if we are truly on Earth."

"So that leaves office work, factory work, service industries or menial labor. Wonderful. All they have listed is hospital orderlies, anyway. That sounds alright, doesn't it?"

Spock had been able to retrieve another hat from the front desk attendant. This time it was a Navy man's blue knitted beanie that did a better job at hiding his ear tips. The hat made him itch. Perhaps he was allergic to the wool yarn. He scratched his head surreptitiously once or twice till he found McCoy studying him with narrowed eyes. From then he resolved to resist the urge.

Unfortunately, by the time they had arrived at the mission, 8:00 am, the kitchen was already closed for breakfast. The mission attendant announced on the loudspeaker that the facility was still over capacity for beds.

Spock did not welcome sleeping on the freezing beach once again.

Luckily, McCoy had noticed an advertisement for the YMCA. The 'Young Men's Christian Association' offered beds on a nightly or weekly basis. Located on the corner of Pine Avenue and Sixth Street. Cots for men were at twenty cents a night. However, since they both were what McCoy termed: 'flat broke', even twenty cents felt like a princely sum.

Many types of welfare appeared to be clearly nonexistent in this time. It was imperative for them to hustle for some type of work if they were to have a bed for tonight.

"I'll just be a minute," McCoy called over. Spock nodded and waited for him in front of the men's toilets.

After half an hour, the doctor finally emerged, looking very pale, his face damp, his light blue eyes hooded, bloodshot, red rimmed. The man usually kept his hair combed tidily across his face but the wet bangs now hung down into his eyes, a drastic change from his normal appearance. "Goddamned sand gets into everything."

"Are you quite alright, Doctor?"

"I'm fine, Spock. Just need a glass of water."

* * *

_'what have you done to it? how can it breathe, eat, speak...what have you done to it, you... MANIACS!'_

* * *

The mission attendant handed a small scrap of paper to McCoy: "Here's a list of hospitals seeking orderlies. Telephone first. Here's the number and some change." An assortment of coins landed into Spock's hand.

"HA9-3456?" McCoy read a listing aloud with a puzzled frown. "What's that, a phone number?"

"There's a booth located just outside."

* * *

_'beep...beep...beep...beep...'_

* * *

"How the hell do you open the door to this thing?" McCoy wondered as they both stood staring at the glass enclosed phone booth.

"Unknown." Spock slowly walked around it. "Fascinating. There is no clear way of entry. No release mechanism."

"Thought you'd been to 1930's New York."

"I did not have an opportunity to utilize a telephone in that era."

"There's gotta be a goddamned way to get in. This is ridiculous. You're the Chief Science Officer aboard the Enterprise, can't you figure it out?"

"And you are the Chief Medical Officer, a gifted, renowned physician with an M.D. and two phD's," Spock retorted.

"'Bout time you finally admitted that," McCoy snapped. Spock rolled his eyes.

A man walked up. "Are you using this?"

"No, you go on ahead," McCoy told him. They watched the man push one side of the booth to open it, then held an earpiece up to his ear while conversing through a speaker in the main body of the device.

"Oh, well, of course!" McCoy said, watching him with a smile. "That's easy enough."

They waited politely for the man to finish his call and walk away. McCoy pushed open the door and they both crowded in, shutting it behind them. "It's a little too cosy for two, isn't it."

"Indeed."

McCoy sighed, picked up the phone receiver and held it to his ear. "Sounds like it's humming. Now what?"

Spock shrugged.

McCoy studied the rotary dial, then the numbers on the piece of paper. "I'm assuming these correspond in some sort of way. Oh, wait…I hear ringing."

A woman's voice answered: "Pacific Bell Telephone. What number please?"

"Oh," McCoy said. "Hello…I need uh…HE2-5098?" He shrugged at Spock.

"I would be happy to connect you, Sir. Please deposit five cents."

"Five cents? Hey…Spock, give me five cents!"

"Five cents?" Spock raised an eyebrow.

"It's the bigger coin…oh no, not that one…that's twenty five cents, no that's ten cents…I think-"

"Sir, do you intend to make a call?"

"Yes…hang on a moment. Spock hurry up with that goddamned five cents!"

"A moment, Doctor. I am endeavoring to locate the appropriate coinage."

"Sir, I must disconnect you if you do not put in a nickel."

"Nickel? I thought you said five cents?"

"I'm afraid I must disconnect if you are not going to make a call."

"Wait!"

"Goodbye." There was a buzzing and the woman was gone.

"Dammit!" McCoy slammed down the receiver. "Forget it. More trouble than it's worth. We'll just have to visit these places in person. Probably better that way, anyway." He stopped and gulped.

"Doctor?"

"Sure is...sure is claustrophobic in here. Almost like a coffin..." His eyes grew wide.

Spock caught the man's arm, leading him out of the booth.

* * *

_'you're gonna miss me when your gone, daddy...'_

* * *

They had a map but no additional coinage for the local bus service. They simply walked the approximate mile to Seaside Hospital on Junipero and Broadway, then the next block over to Cherry Avenue for the Harriman Jones Clinic, close to where they'd first arrived. While in the vicinity, they investigated for the telltale sign of the portal. Still nothing. They looped back to downtown walking over to St. Mary's Hospital on 10th Street and American Avenue.

Each hospital they applied to for a job, any job at all, took one look at them and inexplicably turned them away. It had been easier to find a job in 1930's depression New York.

"They're beginning to give me a complex," McCoy complained.

They returned to the vicinity of Ocean and Pine Avenues by 4:00pm as told by the gongs of the main clock overhead. Perhaps there would be more 'help wanted' signs in this area, densely populated with shops and restaurants.

As they walked down Pine, over the 'Red Car' tram tracks in the street, McCoy suddenly faltered and nearly collapsed.

Spock whipped out an arm to catch him before he hit the pavement.

McCoy waved off any help. "Just a little dizzy." Spock released him and they went further along till the doctor stopped them in front of a pawn shop. "Here." He yanked on his pinky finger, finally pulling off his gold ring with some effort. He handed over the object to Spock. "This might tide us over for awhile."

Spock hesitated as he turned it over in his fingers. The ring featured a tiny blue stone set in the center, something he had never previously noticed. McCoy had never removed this article of jewelry before nor had he ever mentioned why he wore it.

McCoy simply shrugged. "Hurry up. I'm starving."

* * *

_blood...blood...everywhere...on the walls...sticky...coating the floor... the warm liquid splatters onto his face, the pungent odor of iron..._

* * *

Armed with the seven dollars and fifty cents they received for the ring, they located a diner called the 'Chat n' Nibble' on Ocean Avenue, situated across from what appeared to be an old fashioned cinema called the 'Fox'. The humble eating establishment proved both inexpensive, clean and rather deserted at the moment. In one of the booths featuring shiny metallic tables and red vinyl seating, Spock ate a salad while McCoy worked his way through the 'Penny Special': a T-Bone steak, a baked potato and side of vegetables.

With his meal, McCoy gulped down a tall glass of water. He lifted a hand to signal the waitress for another when Spock pushed his towards the man. "Thanks."

"Is the water safe to drink?"

"I don't know and right now I don't care. Probably loaded with chemicals and paramecium and tapeworm and the like. We will have to be seriously de-conned back aboard the Enterprise. Wonder where this water comes from?"

"The Pacific Ocean, I would surmise."

"No, no, no. They wouldn't have the technology to desalinate like that. There's probably a lake someplace. Maybe an underground reservoir. Hope the filtration is any good." McCoy took another large swig. "Tastes okay."

Spock eyed the liquid warily.

"Doesn't even have ice in it," McCoy said, sounding rather disgusted. "Warm water. Tasty. Maybe they don't know how to make ice."

"Would they not? The creation of water ice is an extremely simple process."

"Yes, but they have to have the mechanism to be able to freeze the water. Maybe they don't have freezers. Though I hope they have some type of adequate cooling devices for the food, refrigeration, or at least they cook on high enough temps, or we're developing food poisoning, real quick. They're still-" McCoy scrunched his face again. "Still using fossil fuels. Coal. Oil. You smell that?"

Spock nodded.

"Drink your water Spock, it's probably safe for Vulcans."

"I can forgo for longer periods than a Human."

"Vulcans can't go without forever."

"I am well aware."

The amused glint in the blue eyes turned concerned. "Why are you suddenly afraid of water, Spock? Never used to be."

"I am not afraid. I simply do not relish consuming tepid drinking water."

McCoy nodded and chuckled. "Spoiled rotten."

Spock pulled the pawn ticket out of his pocket, passing it over to McCoy to change the subject. "Do not lose this. We have until January 20th to claim back your ring."

"Think we'll be here that long?" McCoy snickered but his eyes were downcast. "It's either pawn the ring or resort to mugging old ladies or becoming a couple of filthy street beggars till Jim manages to find us. I guess we could always go work for the mob. Seems to be a bunch of illegal gambling dens around here looking for men to work in them. Know how to play cards, Spock?"

"Perhaps tomorrow we shall be more successful in our job search." Spock opened up the newspaper. He noticed black ink rubbing off onto his hands and wiped them on his lap. "Here is an advertisement: 'Men needed for roughnecking' on Signal Hill. What is that?"

"Roughnecking…" McCoy thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. "Drilling for oil."

"Should we apply?"

"For oil drilling? Ever seen a documentary about rough necking?"

"Negative."

"Forget it. I can't do that. Maybe you can. But not me."

"It is a job. They require many men."

"We'll find something else." McCoy pulled the other part of the newspaper away, reading it, furrowing his brow. "Why do they have to make the print so goddamned small?"

"What are you looking for, Dr. McCoy?"

"I just thought of something. I saw it in an old movie, once. The personal ads- people used to use them to find someone. Put an ad in, maybe Jim will spot it. Three hundred years later."

"Perhaps. However, the odds are stacked against us."

McCoy smiled grimly. "Don't be such a pessimist, Mr. Spock. The glass," he held it to his lips, draining it, "is half full."

* * *

_'the park…sometimes you can hear...screaming...'_

* * *

At precisely 7pm they turned up at the YMCA. McCoy hit the bell to summon the front desk attendant. "Hello?" he called out when no one immediately came forth.

Finally a man who seemed extremely annoyed to be assisting them approached the desk. "May I help you?"

McCoy rolled his eyes, apparently swallowing down a caustic remark. "Any room at the inn?"

The attendant handed Spock a card and a pen. "Fill this out, please."

Spock attempted to use the pen but only scratched it unsuccessfully on the paper. No ink would come forth. "This pen does not operate."

The attendant pushed over the inkwell with a rather unnecessary amount of force.

McCoy delicately retrieved the pen from Spock's grasp. "Here, like this." He dipped the pen in, then attempted to write with it. Still no luck. "Now, how in the hell do you use this thing?"

The attendant ripped the pen out of McCoy's hand, dipping it further into the inkwell, then demonstrated on a piece of scrap paper. "You two gentlemen just land here from Mars or something?"

"One would think you'd at least have a goddamned ballpoint, in this day and age."

"They're expensive," the man growled back at McCoy. "Sign your name here, please." He pointed at the location on the paper, then handed them pillows and blankets and directed them to the second floor.

"Why's everybody in such a goddamned foul mood?" McCoy complained as they trudged up the stairs.

* * *

_'...do you like to love?'_

_'no...'_

* * *

"Not the most comfortable looking beds in the universe." McCoy pulled off his jacket and tie, laying both down to claim his cot, a rickety, green canvas and metal construct. "But at this point, I'd fall fast asleep on a stone plinth."

Spock sat down on the cot directly across from McCoy's. "Indeed."

McCoy sighed, unbuttoning his shirt, removing it along with the socks and shoes, finally standing in the undershirt and trousers. "I think I'm going to take a long, hot-whatever the hell they have in this dump-bath or shower. See you in a little while, Spock." He headed off in the direction of the bath and toilet area.

Spock held up the newspaper up but the print seemed to blur. Unusual for him, however he had been awake for one standard week. He closed his eyes to rest them for a few moments.

At the dull thud he reopened them.

_fascinating. the room has now grown to massive proportions. the ceiling's height several kilometers in the distance. the walls just as far apart. he marvels at this development for a moment-this cannot be, yet it is quite vivid and real._

_he hops down off of the cot, falling-unavoidable panic at how far he falls. down. down. down._

_he lands hard with a thump. the shockwaves go through his feet to his legs. he manages to avoid sinking to his knees._

_he inches his way out into the never ending corridor. white. kilometers and kilometers of pure, gleaming, blinding tiled floor._

_he is now before a door, with a gold nob. he touches it. it swings out for him. he must enter._

_the room is inhabited entirely by unnatural, almost comical women. an odd emblem is sewn onto their attire, two overlapping triangles. the women are approximately three kilometers high or more, he cannot be precise at this time. they are white from head to toe. hair, clothing, body. they are wearing what appear to be macabre 'tragedy masques' ,the faces frozen in a grotesque, anguished frown._

_a loud roar. perhaps a large crowd. sounds as such. he cannot see them. high above him. he glances up. he sees them now._

_the crowd seems most disappointed. they do not express the emotion visibly as such but he feels it, almost down to his katra. the waves roll off of them and hit him, almost knocking him over. they boo. at him. his heart aches. he does not wish to displease them so. but he has._

_the white tragedy mask grow huge, sinister black eyes. they weep inky black tears. he tries to catch their tears but it runs through his fingers. down to the white floor, spoiling everything._

_the crowd point at him accusingly. 'the fault lies with you and you alone,' they shriek in unison._

_'i am sorry,' he tries to explain._

_a scream. the sound is horrific, reverberating in his mind._

_a man in agony._

_mccoy—_

Spock gasped and blinked his eyes open.

The newspaper had fallen onto the floor beneath him. He stared down at his hands covered in ink.

He looked up, checking the wall clock. Over two hours had passed and the doctor had not yet returned.

He discovered McCoy still in the bathroom down the hall, wrapped only in a towel, hunched over the toilet, shivering and vomiting.

Spock came up behind him kneeling down, rubbing McCoy's bare back until the man's nausea appeared to abate. He pulled McCoy up, wetting a wash cloth under the faucet and wiping the man's face.

"Thanks." The man's voice was a barely audible, shaky whisper.

Spock flushed the toilet and sat the doctor down on the seat. He collected the clothing piled on a chair next to the tub. When he came back to McCoy, the man's head dipped between his legs, he noted the sopping wet brown hair. Spock grabbed another towel from the pile and reached over to dry his head.

"What are you, my mother?" McCoy yanked the towel away.

"You are ill."

McCoy proceeded to towel off his own hair. "I'm the doctor around here! I'm fine."

Spock nodded, washed his hands in the sink, drying them on a suspect hand towel, then vacated the bathroom to give the man his privacy.

A short while later McCoy returned to their room and lay down heavily on his cot. "Goodnight, Spock."

"Goodnight, Doctor."

* * *

_"...help me..."_

_"i am sorry. truly i am...please forgive me..."_

* * *

The next morning they were up early as per the rules of the "Y" (as the locals referred to the establishment). McCoy had had to be shaken awake. He obviously needed at least a few days confined bed rest and medical care. However the "Y" forbade anyone to remain in bed past breakfast and did not have an onsite infirmary.

McCoy pushed his barely touched meal over to Spock.

After the breakfast hour, Spock brushed his teeth in the sink. McCoy, even more pale and haggard, suddenly vomited again in the bathroom toilet. "Doctor?"

The man leaned over the sink, rinsing out his mouth, then wiping it with a towel. "Salmonella or E-coli or Cantobacter, surely. I knew my stomach wouldn't be able to handle their damned food."

"You do not have food poisoning."

"Why thank you, 'Doctor' Spock. Listen, until you can show me a medical certificate, I'd appreciate it if you knocked off with the goddamned prognoses. We'll be certain to catch everything off these people. At least they have the sense to cover their damned mouths when they cough." McCoy suddenly grabbed at his abdomen. "Unh."

"You are in severe pain."

"I said, I'm fine! Only some abdominal distention. Gonna probably develop diarrhea in the next five minutes so I was you I'd vacate the vicinity."

"Too much information, Doctor," Spock replied, curtly.

McCoy smirked.

* * *

_he's watching a theatrical play...the scene keeps shifting... hard to keep focus, keep track...all he knows is that the players...they're all wearing white...completely clad in white...they're wearing masks...the features frozen in a permanent frown: they look like... theatrical tragedy masks...he's okay with the comedy masks, but the tragedy ones, they're terrifying..._

_'daddy?' he feels a tug at his coat._

_'yes, sweetheart...i'm here...daddy's here...'_

_'you're not gonna see me grow up are you. not gonna see me at all.'_

_'of course i am, sweetheart, i'll always be here, always...'_

_the spotlight's on him, there's applause... and he realizes too late, with growing terror... he's part of the play..._

* * *

The next morning, McCoy stood studying his face in the "Y"'s communal bathroom mirror. Along with the bags that were continually present under the his eyes were new heavy dark circles. "Guess what's wearing off, Spock?"

"Beard repressor." Spock rubbed a hand along the soft scruff peppering his own face.

"We're gonna have to start shaving every day." McCoy pouted like a child, as if this was the only important obstacle in this time they had to overcome. "I hate shaving every day."

"It is unavoidable at this point."

"I hope these people have invented the safety razor. Ever try using a straight blade? And that's not all that's wearing off," McCoy said. "I take Retinax Five for my eyesight."

"How bad is your normal vision?"

"20/300. I have age related macular degeneration. Do these people even know what that is?"

* * *

_'dear god…help me…'_

* * *

"May I help you?" At the 'Independent' newspaper office on 7th and Pine, the elderly gentleman at the desk glared at them.

"Yes," McCoy replied. "How much to put a personal ad in the paper?"

"Ten cents a word, running a week. Fill this out please." The man slid over a form with a pen and ink well.

"Don't have a ballpoint either, huh?"

"Do what, now?" The man replied.

McCoy shook his head. "Never mind."

Spock took the paper and the pen.

"Oh, you go on right ahead, Commander," McCoy snapped.

Spock nodded and wrote the inscription: 'Jim, we are currently located here in Long Beach, California in the year 1941. We are doing well, but please endeavor to locate us in the quickest amount of time. Sincerely, Mister Spock and Doctor McCoy.'

McCoy took the paper away from him. "Spock. This costs ten cents a word."

"Indeed."

"So...this little essay you wrote is gonna set us back three dollars."

Spock shrugged.

"A day, Spock. Three dollars a day. You get me?"

"Oh, it'll be more than that. You forgot the punctuation and the spaces," the man told them.

"You charge for those, too?"

"Of course!"

McCoy muttered an obscenity under his breath. He yanked the pen out of Spock's grasp, dipped it into the ink well again. He crossed out a vast majority of the text and wrote in some alterations. "There. 'Attn:JTKSpockMcCoyEarthLongBeach1 941Hurry'." McCoy handed it back to the man. "Alright."

The man rolled his eyes. "Dollar fifty a day."

"We'll run it once a week for now, can we do that?" McCoy asked.

The man sighed. "Sure."

"At least until we can find some goddamned work in this town," McCoy said out of the side of his mouth.

* * *

_'i cut it out...'_

_'what?'_

_'the monster...'_

* * *

They found themselves no better off the next week as they spent the days still searching for employment. The area appeared to be in an economic slump or recession.

"It usually is before a war, Spock," McCoy told him.

Between having to purchase a few pairs of socks and underwear between them, a few meager toiletries like toothbrushes and toothpaste, deodorant, razors, razorblades and shaving soap, bus fare for each across the city and staying nights at the YMCA (the meals were included at least), the money from pawning McCoy's ring would not last long.

That morning they received notice from the front desk attendant. Tomorrow they would need to look for a longer term transient apartment.

"Maybe we could do some work around here. We'll do anything. Odd jobs," McCoy offered. "You know…in exchange for room and board."

"Sorry," the attendant replied. "We've got plenty of men for work around here. There's some rooming houses at the Pike, or you could try some of the working men's hotels. There's the 'Greenleaf' or the 'Dolly Varden' Hotel. Bath in every room." The man handed Spock a listing on a piece of paper.

They glanced at each other.

"Looks like we're sleeping in the park tomorrow night," McCoy grumbled.

* * *

_'don't do this to me...'_

* * *

Sitting on the 'Y's cot that evening, reading the day's paper, Spock had been certain he had been surreptitiously scratching his head when McCoy pounced on him. "Son of a bitch."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You have head lice," McCoy hissed, keeping his voice quiet, as if not at all certain if the affliction would get them kicked out before morning. "Unbelievable."

"Vulcans do not contract head lice, Doctor."

"The hell they don't." McCoy pulled Spock's head down to investigate, scrunching up his face with squinting. "Sure 'nough. You fucking bastard." McCoy pushed him away and buried his head in his hands, worry and desperation manifesting itself in his voice. "We don't have the money to purchase anything to treat you. What the hell are we gonna do now?"

"Surely there is a free clinic in town?"

"Are you insane?! You can't go anyplace. They'll find out you're not human. They find out you got them pointy Vulcan ears and green blood and that's it for you. Remember that," McCoy whispered, gesticulating forcefully, dragging a hand across his own neck, with accompanying drastic sound effect. "These people have never met anybody like you."

"I meant, Doctor, that a free clinic might be willing to simply dispense the meds without benefit of medical exam."

"Don't count on it. I sure as hell wouldn't without examining the patient. I'll have to figure out what these people use to eradicate the bastards. Something that's safe. Don't scratch your head."

"I am able ignore the symptoms."

"The hell you can." McCoy thought for a moment. "Head lice isn't a vector carrier at least…however…let me see your clothes." He waited for Spock to pull off his jacket, then inspected the inner seams. "Nothing there. Take your trousers off." Spock hesitated a beat, but removed them. McCoy flipped them inside out. "Oh, no."

"More?"

"A different species, infests the clothes. Making me itch just looking at 'em. Carries typhus, it's probably in the goddamned linens of this place. I'm gonna wind up contracting them, too. Dammit! Well, I shouldn't be so surprised, I mean I knew there was fleas in this dive. Look at these bites!" McCoy held up his arm.

"We cannot do anything about it at the moment, Doctor. There is no need for melodramatics."

"I wasn't being melodramatic, dammit, simply pragmatic! Don't scratch so much, you'll give yourself sores."

"I was not scratching."

McCoy lay down on his cot and yanked the blanket up to his waist. "I love it when you're honest with your kindly old family physician." He suddenly scratched at himself. "Now you're making me itch. Goddammit." He sat up, threw the blanket off and pulled his own clothing off to inspect them. "Nothing there. Okay, so far just you. But don't you dare snuggle with me, you bastard."

"Vulcans do not snuggle."

"So... the little lice love green blood. Fleas ignore you, but the lice love you."

Spock lay back on his pillow, arms behind his head. "Evidently."

"Well, there's no accounting for taste-don't scratch."

"I was not."

"Liar."

* * *

_'leonard...please forgive me...'_

* * *

"Excuse me." Spock felt a tug on his jacket as he checked the jobs board again while waiting for McCoy to emerge from yet another lengthy visit to the restroom. An older man stood behind him. "Looking for a job?"

"I am."

"Well, you're in luck. I'm hiring an orderly at the 'Harimann Jones' Clinic. Making beds, sweeping floors, moving patients. That sort of thing. Y'interested?"

"Indeed, I am, Sir. Is there a perhaps a position open for another? I have a friend who also requires a-"

"No, just one man. And you're the man for the job. You look like a hard worker. I'm sure they won't mind if you're a Jap."

"A what?"

"Never mind." The man clasped Spock on the shoulder, handing him a card. "Report tomorrow 6am sharp."

* * *

_'dear god…don't…'_

* * *

Even with his new orderly position, Spock would not receive his weeks wages until Friday.

The week felt like the longest Spock had ever experienced in his life. Illogical, but nevertheless true. They were now reduced to sleeping nights with the other homeless men in nearby Lincoln park on Pacific Avenue. In the shadow of the red bricked municipal library designed and built by Dale Carnegie, they bunked down on a green wooden bench-which meant McCoy sleeping and Spock sitting next to him, keeping a watch out for policemen or anyone else who might wish to harm them.

Making the remainder of their food money stretch till nearly the end of the week, they made do with a few groceries from the nearby farmer's market in the park or bowls of soup and bread from the Woolworth's counter. On wednesday they went for the evening meal: Soup, bread and coffee at the Seaman's mission. Spock offered his portion of food to McCoy, who refused it, insisting Spock eat his own share, but appeared ravenous nonetheless.

The doctor grew increasingly peaked and weak by the day. Spock had kept insisting the man find a safe place on the beach or in the park to rest, or at least lounge at the seaman's mission during the days but he knew McCoy did not. Instead the man continued his own frantic search for a job.

Meanwhile, Spock now swept corridors, cleaned hospital rooms and mopped up bloody floors after surgeries.

After meeting up with McCoy in the park each evening, Spock removed his green orderly scrubs, donning his beat up civilian attire. He washed the uniform every other day in the park's restroom sink, amidst other homeless men urinating, cleaning clothes or bathing. He then hung them on the back of the bench overnight, watching carefully to see that they were not stolen. His scrubs were never fully dry the next morning, always damp at 5am, extremely cold and uncomfortable to don, but there was no avoiding it.

"Don't scratch your head," McCoy whispered to him on the bench, huddled up very close on a particularly chilly evening.

"I am not scratching."

"Spock, it would be easy for you to steal some lice remedy from your place of employment."

"I will not commit theft. I will wait until I receive my wages."

"No, you can't wait. They see you scratching too much and you're gonna be out of a job."

"I am fine."

"Stop insisting you're fine. We both know you're not."

"Doctor. I suggest you sleep."

McCoy snuffled. "Too cold."

Spock drew nearer, pulled the doctor's head into his lap and circled his arms around him. "Is that better?"

"Thought Vulcans don't snuggle," McCoy muttered. "Your gonna give me your fucking lice."

Spock sighed, released him and moved a fair distance apart.

"Get back here, you pointy eared bastard."

"I thought I had lice, Dr. McCoy?"

"Oh, now you admit you have lice."

Spock scratched his head and sighed.

"Dammit, Get back here."

* * *

_'don't…'_

* * *

Thursday morning, at precisely 5am, Spock gently shifted the doctor off his lap.

McCoy moaned and shouted in his sleep: "No, no, don't, leave him alone! I won't let you!"

"Doctor," Spock whispered. "Shhh. It is now time for you to wake up."

"Don't hurt me."

"No one is hurting you. Wake up."

McCoy opened his bloodshot eyes. "Huh?"

"You were having a nightmare and I must leave for my shift at the hospital."

"Alright." McCoy closed his eyes once again. "Just need to rest for a few moments."

Spock dearly wished that he could let the man remain here on the bench and sleep till late morning, but in the dark, in Lincoln Park, with plenty of seedy men about-doing so appeared much too dangerous.

XXXX

"You're gonna lose that hand, if you don't fucking remove it, right now."

_'get off me…get OFF ME!'_

The hand slithered away from his hair.

McCoy shuddered, still feeling the petting. "Goddamned creeps...don't fall asleep...don't fall asleep..."

* * *

McCoy stood, yawning into his fist, in Thrifty's Drug Store. He squinted at the wares on display, while some type of ghastly music played over the loudspeaker. "Douche? Feminine douche by Dupont Laboratories?" he muttered to himself. "You gotta be kidding me. Look at the chemicals in this crap. That'll disintegrate the ol' delicate membranes, so they can what? Smell like flowers?" He shook his head and moved on, past the 'Lifebouy Soap', muttering about the: "Lye in the goddamned soap, are they nuts?"

He finally moved on to an area that corresponded to what he was looking for, selecting a small tin from the selection available. He considered himself extremely lucky that they weren't stored behind the counter, where a matronly older woman stood watching.

"Contains 10 % DDT," he read. "Destroys parasites such as fleas, lice, ants, bedbugs, cockroaches, flies, etc. Harmless to humans and warm blooded animals. Dichlorodiphenyltrichloroeth ane? Harmless? What is this, the dark ages?"

"May I help you, sir?" the woman asked, now standing directly behind him.

He turned and smiled and laid on the southern charm, flashing his eyes, hoping that he didn't have noticeable body odor. "Nah, just having a look-see, if that's mighty fine with you, Ma'am," he drawled out.

She blushed and brought her hand up to her hair. "Oh, well that's fine. Just let me know if you need some assistance." She walked off to assist another customer.

He placed the offending ingredient back on the shelf and picked up another one. "Choroxehelgiatle hydroximate." He thought about it for a moment. "Well, at least it ain't DDT."

He stuffed the small glass bottle into the inside pocket of his coat and walked out.

* * *

"Never thought I'd be de-lousing your goddamned Vulcan hair, in a park restroom sink on Earth, circa 1941."

"Make haste, Dr. McCoy. This is not the most comfortable situation I have ever been in."

"I know, I know. The odor is horrendous. Come back here, I'm not finished with you, yet."

* * *

_a clown…white... all in white…white wig…white costume…white clowny shoes…and a painted red smile..._

* * *

Spock finally received his pay packet for his first week of work. They 'celebrated' Friday evening by having dinner at the 'Chat n' Nibble'. Salads for both of them this time as McCoy claimed the penny steak was the source of his constant discomfort.

"First order of business." McCoy pulled out a newspaper and flipped it to the want ads. "Finding us a home."

"Home?" Spock looked up, mildly surprised.

"I meant, a place to stay until Jim finds us. I know we're not going to be here forever. You'll forgive me for wanting to get off the hard park bench in the freezing cold night after night in the meantime." McCoy perused the list of apartments, running a finger down the text. "I have no idea if these places are too expensive or not. Seem ridiculously cheap to me."

"It is all relative."

"Said the genus with the pointy ears. I just hope it's not infested with vermin. Here's one: 'The Sovereign Apartments'."

"You boys having any desert? We've got some fresh baked peach pie," the waitress cooed at them.

Spock shook his head. "No thank you, just the bill-"

"Yeah, that's sounds wonderful," McCoy broke in. "I'll have a slice."

"You want whipped cream on top? Or ice cream?"

"Ice cream." McCoy flashed his eyes at the woman. "And a vanilla malt, I 'spose."

"Well, alright, then." She turned around and sauntered off. McCoy watched her, tracking her every move. "She's from the South." Spock cleared his throat. The doctor snapped his head around. "What?"

"Pie?"

"Oh please. I can have a slice of pie if I want-even it is on your dime. We are celebrating."

"And a malt."

"Don't tell me you're a damned cheapskate."

* * *

The 'Sovereign Apartments', a high rise building on the corner of Chestnut Place and Windsor Avenue, was located almost adjacent to 'The Pike', a popular and crowded amusement area very similar in appearance to New York's Coney Island. The ground floor of the building housed a tattoo studio called: 'Grimm's" which was overrun with servicemen whiling away the cool Saturday morning.

McCoy chucked at the sight. "Should we get tattoos?"

"Permanently marking the skin is not logical."

"You're no fun at all, are you."

Inside the apartment lobby, they rang the bell at the attendant's desk.

The attendant took a key from the back wall and lead the way to the rear of the building. "It's on the tenth floor. Nice unit, lots of swell character. Cozy."

"Great," McCoy replied. "That means it's smaller than my quarters."

"This way, please." They halted before the elevator. "I'm afraid the lift is out of order. We'll have to take the stairs."

"To the tenth floor?!" McCoy sputtered. "How long before it's fixed?"

"Not long. Should be the end of the week. Staircase is that way."

On the fifth floor landing, McCoy had to pause to catch his breath. "Jesus. I'm pretty damned fit, but this is gonna be a pain in the ass." Spock had to agree.

The furnished unit itself proved extremely shabby, with peeling paint, a broken window pane in the living room, crumbling fixtures and flooring. However, it had the benefit of being reasonable in price and featured an en-suite bathroom and a kitchen with a stove, a dinner table seating two and a small, white, beat-up cooling device. The living area cum bedroom proved to be tiny, only room enough for and containing a couch and double bed. In such cramped quarters they would be figuratively living on top of each other, but they had no other choice. There was no heating or air conditioning to speak of but it was far better than any place they'd slept in thus far.

"You fetch the block of ice and your allotment of kerosene from the basement," the landlord instructed them. "We have ice delivered daily and the kerosene for the stove delivered weekly. That's also included in the rent."

"I know what kerosene is but what is the block of ice for?" McCoy asked.

The man threw McCoy a quizzical look. "The ice-box, right there. What's the matter? Haven't you ever seen an ice-box before? Where are you from, Mars?" The landlord suddenly burst into hysterical laughter with McCoy hesitantly joining in.

They quickly checked the bed for any signs of bedbugs and the apartment itself for rats, mice or any other such vermin. Finding none at this point they were quite satisfied to make this abode temporarily home. "We'll take it! Right Spock?"

"Affirmative."

"You boys in the Navy?" the landlord suddenly asked.

"Why?" McCoy asked. "Does it matter?"

"Yes. We don't like Navy in this building. Too much trouble. No kids, no servicemen, no Japs, no queers. Ain't in the Navy, are ya?"

"No, definately not," McCoy replied.

They paid the landlord the first week's rent he asked for and the man happily went on his way, handing them two sets of keys upon his exit.

McCoy held up his skeleton style key. "One in every closet."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

The doctor shook his head then moved around the apartment making more inspections. "Spock, look at this." He flipped the light switch on and off. "Incandescent bulbs. Museum quality."

"Ah, yes, I remember these from 1930's New York." Spock studied the bulb, as enchanted as the doctor, watching it gradually light up then turn off with McCoy's repeated movements. "As I recall this device generates a significant amount of heat."

"Not enough to keep us warm in this drafty cell, but yeah, have to make sure we turn these off when we leave each day." McCoy moved over to the kitchen, stopping in front of the stove. "Can you cook?"

"I cannot."

"Thought Vulcans were well learned in everything."

"Not cooking."

"Well, great, how we supposed to eat then? Sandwiches every night? Restaurants? Take out?" McCoy turned on a knob experimentally and waited. "Nothing's happening."

Spock sniffed the air. "Something is happening. An odor resembling sulphur. Gas. The odor is artificially added. Apparently, one must light this by hand."

"Oh right. I should have known. No fancy digital ignitors in this day and age." McCoy quickly returned the knob to the 'off' position, also sniffing the air. "This is like going camping." He looked into the sink. "No garbage disposal. This is really roughing it. We'll need matches to light the stove."

Together they investigated all the cabinets in the kitchen. "Nothing," Spock declared.

"Well, add it to the shopping list," McCoy said with profound disgust. "Along with the five hundred and seventy eight other items we need."

"Five hundred and seventy eight? Doctor, I believe you are-"

McCoy held up a hand. "Maybe you could warm yourself up in the mornings with the oven. Turn the gas on, light it with a match. Just open a window first, or you'll asphyxiate the both of us."

"Duly noted."

The sound of music emminated from what appeared to be the adjacent apartment. "Walls are thin, too," McCoy complained. He immediately headed over to the bare bed. With a grunt he collapsed onto the mattress, face down at first, then turning himself over. They would of course have to purchase bed coverings as soon as possible. "I'm pooped. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Doctor." Suddenly the noise next door grew louder. The singing became plainly audible:

**"He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way,**

**he had a boogie style that no one else could play**

**he was the top man of his craft,**

**but then his number came up and he was gone with the draft,**

**he's in the army now, a blowin' revilie, **

**he's the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B...**'

McCoy groaned at that. "'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy'? I can see that's gonna be a problem. And you're fetching the block of ice every morning."

* * *

_he's a contestant in a game show...white everywhere, entirely devoid of color...there's lights, there's television cameras pointed at him from every direction, blinding white lights...they're so blinding...there's applause all surrounding him...god he must have done something right... all those years of college and med school and studying and hard work and residency have paid off and he gave the right answer._

_'yes! i agree!'_

_'that's the right answer!'_

_'is it?'_

_'congratulations!'_

_'thank you!' he replies. 'what have i won?'_

_'just wait to see what prize we have planned for you!'_

_'i can't wait,' he says._

* * *

On Saturday afternoon, they were finally able to replace their lousy, holy, smelly clothing with newer items found on the sale rack in the men's section at 'Buffum's' Department Store.

They halted in front of a huge display of wing tipped, black and white shoes, advertised as the height of fashion. "These look nice," McCoy noted, squinting. He selected his size from the stack of boxes. "I think this says size eleven, doesn't it?"

"Affirmative."

McCoy sat down, pulled off his old shoe and dove a foot in. His eyes rolled up in ecstasy. "Oh my God."

"Comfortable?" Spock asked the man with wry amusement.

"Hmm, are they ever. Can't wait to replace these ill-fitting, nasty things." He kicked with distain at the abandoned right shoe from the charity box with his left foot. "These even beat the Enterprise's uniform boots any day. Should make these standard issue. Get yourself a pair of these, Spock, you won't regret it."

"The shoes are made of leather," Spock protested.

The blatant excitement in McCoy's eyes immediately extinguished. "Oh right. Well, I don't know if we can get a hold of any shoes that aren't made from animal hide in this time, can we? Maybe something made from nylon or rubber?"

"I do not know."

McCoy removed the shoes from his feet and set them back into the box. "Ma'am," he called over to the clerk. "No, thank you."

"You do not want the shoes?" Spock asked him.

"Nope. Let's keep looking."

"They are reasonably priced and comfortable."

"They are indeed, Mr. Spock. But-"

"Then get them."

"I'm not gonna get them. I can find something else!"

"Sir, do you want the shoes?" the woman clerk asked.

"He does," Spock answered. "And I shall take a pair as well."

"Spock," McCoy still protested out of the side of his mouth. "We don't have to."

"They're very attractive," the woman replied.

Spock exchanged a glance with the doctor. "That they are."

* * *

On American Avenue, they crossed over tram tracks, halting in time to let the 'Red Car' bound to Los Angeles hustle past. They stopped in front of Dooley's hardware store. "This is it. Dooleys." McCoy said, holding up his list. "Matches. And the nine hundred other items we need. In here."

"We do not require nine hundred-"

"Get us a basket, Spock."

Spock grimaced and did so. He followed the doctor around the store as the man tossed various items into it such as more incandescant bulbs. "Please watch our monetary funds, they are dwindling."

"I'm watching it, I'm watching it. These things are necessities!"

Suddenly the doctor froze, terror flooding his features.

"Doctor," Spock whispered. "What is it?"

"Clamp..." McCoy stammered. "A clamp..."

"Clamp?"

"A goddamned clamp! Sitting right there?" He pointed at an object sitting on a shelf. "Don't you know what a fucking clamp is?!"

_'i'm your wicked uncle ernie; i'm glad you won't see or hear me, as i fiddle about, fiddle about, your captain left you here for me, and i'm doing what i bleedin' well want to, fiddling about, fiddling about, fiddling about...down with your bedclothes, up with your nightshirt...'_

_the medical clamp forces it's way into his body cavity, holding open the incision._

"Owww!" McCoy grabbed at his abdomen and staggered. Spock caught his arm, holding onto the man firmly. "Spock..." he whispered, "I'm gonna vomit...gonna..."

"Pardon me, Sir," Spock called over to the clerk, "Is there a toilet in the vicinity?"

The man pointed. "Over there."

* * *

On Sunday morning, McCoy found the first mouse. As neither he nor Spock was willing to kill the tiny, terrified Earth rodent they simply placed the grey furred creature into a box-McCoy's shoe box- and carried it outside, releasing it out into the open.

When they trudged back upstairs, their nosy next door neighbor called out. "Why didn't'ya kill it? Just gonna go infest another building."

"How'd you know we had a mouse?"

"I could hear youse yelling and swearing. Here." The man tossed over to McCoy a canister. "You spray with this, you'll never see one again for a long while. Roaches, too!"

"No thanks." McCoy threw it back and they went into their own unit.

"Was your hands thoroughly," McCoy informed Spock, completely unnesacarily. "That all they got in 1941 to kill anything is DDT?"

"Doctor, it would behoove you to lower your voice, from now on."

"You were the one screaming bloody murder: 'Ooh a mouse, a mouse, get it, Dr. McCoy!'"

"That is entirely untrue."

"Well, alright. But you still made me capture it."

* * *

McCoy breathed hard as he finally reached the basement laundry facility, clutching the pile of dirty laundry. Traversing these ten flights both up and downstairs was getting old real quick.

He turned the doorknob, finding it unlocked and entered. He hoped the laundry area was well lit and and in decent shape.

Of course, it was not.

"Oh, Christ." He ventured inside into complete pitch blackness. What was that smell? Mildew. God he hated that smell. Panic swelled up in his chest and his hair stood up on end as he felt along the wall for a light switch. Nothing. Maybe a chain from the ceiling? He found it on an adjacent wall, dearly hoping his fingers hadn't casually brushed against a cockroach or rat.

"Oh my God." In the dim light, the basement resembled your stereotypical torture chamber, such as what you might find in any halfway decent horror film. Decrepit. Cinderblocks for walls. Bare cement floors. A rat or two scurrying in the corner. Silverfish galore. Huge centipedes scattering around. Who knows what else lurked in the huge shadows. A huge boxlike machine was against the wall, which he assumed contained the ice-blocks.

...and an area filled with gas canisters.

His gaze fell on what rested on top of the nearby table.

Green gas masks. The sight reminded him of...It looked just like-

_he's crawling along the increasingly claustrophobia inducing passageway. the heavy stench of mold chokes him._

_the masked figure…goddamn they all look like they're wearing those old style gas masks-those chilling W.W II style ones, only all in white-pursues him. is that a chuckle? _

_yes. he agrees with the sadist, it's hopeless._

_he will be caught again. he leaves a trail of blood as he slithers along...so he's quite easy to track..._

His breath increased with every passing moment.

He turned around and walked out of the room.

He stomped up the staircase, hyperventilating.

In the landing between the first and second floors he leaned over and vomited.

* * *

McCoy turned down Cedar Street and halted when he hit Pike Lane. "Oh, perfect. A laundry."

He opened the door and went in. An older Asian woman and a small boy about eight years old stood behind the counter. "Hello," McCoy said to the old woman. She didn't reply.

The little boy said: "May we help you?"

"Yes, please, I need these clothes back by tomorrow, is that alright? And I since I'm here, I need a repair to the collar."

As the boy spoke to the older woman, McCoy recognized the language. The older woman replied to the little boy and he translated for McCoy: "Grandmother says that would be fine."

"Wakarimasu," McCoy told the old woman. [I understand.]

Her head snapped towards him in surprise. "Nihongo o hanashimasu ka?" she asked. [You speak our language?]

He smiled. "Ee." [Yes, sort of.]

_"hey, doc," sulu said. "wanna help me with these plants? gets lonely down here in Botany all by myself."_

_"only if you tell me how to say: 'botany' in japanese."_

_"botany."_

_"oh. what about: 'hello, how are you'?"_

_"konnichiwa ogenki desu ka, doc."_

"Doko de nihongo o manabimashita?" the old woman asked. [Where did you learn Japanese?]

"Tomodachi kara," McCoy said simply. [A friend taught me] "Arigatou, obaasama." He gave her a respectful bow. [Thank you, Mama]

She bowed in return.

He went out the door, then turned around to look at the name on the shop front: 'Sulu's Laundry.'

* * *

"What is this?" Spock picked up the ticket from the table.

"There's no need to snap at me."

"I did not snap, Dr. McCoy. I merely enquired." He waved the ticket.

"I pick the clothes up tomorrow."

"Laundry service? This is expensive. We have a laundry facility in the basement."

"Have you seen the basement? I'm not going down there again." McCoy licked his lips and gulped. "I can't...I can't go down there. It reminds me of that place. Of THEM. The dryer...is a goddammed medieval torture device!"

"Your trepidation is illogical. I hardly think that a laundry dryer would be-"

"You go down to that torture chamber and wash clothes! It's awful. I'm not going back there!"

Spock finally nodded. "Sulu's Laundry?"

"Yeah. Cedar and Pike Lane."

"The Sulu family is from San Francisco."

"Yeah. That's what he told me, too. I wonder. Is this his ancestors living here, or a different family?"

"Mr. Sulu never mentioned any family members living elsewhere in California."

McCoy shrugged. "Probably just coincidence, the name."

* * *

_'hey doc...' the lieutenant whispers. 'wanna help me with those plants?'_

_'no...no...no...i don't want to help you...where's spock...where's spock?"_

_'right here...leonard...i am right here...'_

_he feels complete in the tight embrace...'where were you...i missed you...where...god i'm all bloody, where's all the blood coming from? my god i'm bleeding out! for fuck's sake i'm dying, help me!'_

_'shhhh...it is alright...'_

* * *

Their apartment got horrendously cold and damp most nights, even with the repaired window (fixed by Spock) being as they were but a short distance from the ocean.

For sleeping, Spock wore thermal underwear under thick pajamas that they'd also found on sale at Buffum's. McCoy had bought lighter cotton sleepwear, but often seemed to be wearing what was meant to be Spock's other heavy pair. Spock had given up reminding the man who they belonged to. They would start out every night on opposite sides of the double bed-Spock falling asleep to the doctor's sighs and snores-but invariably, he would awaken each morning to find the doctor right up against him. Neither one would mention it when Spock arose at the early alarm.

Often in the mornings, while Spock got ready for work, McCoy would be completely consumed with nausea. Spock had quit enquiring after awhile as McCoy would snap: "it's nothing" or give an excuse: "I have influenza...most likely."

"Then bed rest would be in order."

"Leave me alone. I'm fine."

The doctor's haggard physical appearance spoke otherwise.

* * *

_he's completely nude, dragged bodily along a white hallway to an area partitioned with a white curtain. behind the curtain is a huge bathtub. he is made to kneel in the tub. there's voices in his head, or is it a legitimate sound...he can't decide which...and the silence is deafening..._

_water rains down upon him...a hand is on him, touching him...every part of his body..._

_'i wash you in preparation for your anointing. i wash your head in hopes that your mind and intellect is clear and active, your ears that you may hear our commands and abide by them, your eyes that you may see clearly, your lips that they may never speak ill against us, your back that it may bear the burdens we place upon you, your vitals that it may perform as we may instruct it, your loins,' the hand slides along his penis, 'that it may not... your womb that it may be fruitful, your feet, so that they may not run...'_

_'my womb?'_

_'yes...if you reveal this to anyone or decline what we have asked you to do for us' the voice says, 'would you suffer your own life to be taken?'_

_'yes.'_

* * *

Monday morning at 4am, Spock mixed shaving cream in a small bowl. With a brush he spread the white mixture across his face, dropping in a new blade into the safety razor and tightening it down. He ran the razor from his neck to his jaw line, past his chin.

McCoy walked into the tiny bathroom wearing only a towel around his waist. All modesty between them had apparently now been thrown out the proverbial window. The man leaned against the sink, almost too casually, studying the peeling linoleum. "I'll mop in here today."

Spock made a small noise in acknowledgement, concentrating on his task.

McCoy slid his big toe along a large crack in the floor. "Spock. I'm going to need you to borrow a few things from the hospital."

"'Borrow'?"

"Fine. Steal! Whatever you need to do. Just get ahold of 'em. I need you to get ahold of a spyrogmaniter. It checks blood pressure. I need you to get hold of an immature female rabbit. If they don't have one, get a young frog or a mouse or a rat. Make sure it's young and female. The hospital will probably have some in the lab or maybe you could find one at a pet store. Get me a hypodermic needle and a pair of latex gloves-actually get a box of them or as many as you can. I need a glass beaker. I need an eyedropper. I something to sedate with. A small quantity. Whatever they're using. I need a suture needle and cat gut thread or nylon. Whatever they got. I need a scalpel and surgical scissors. I need a large test tube. Also, get me a stethoscope and if they have it in this day and age a doppler monitor and a mercury thermometer. And…maybe a blood glucose monitor, and something to prick the finger with—if they have that. And a bathroom scale. Buy one from the department store, if they have 'em. Not going to be the most accurate thing in the world but it's better than nothing."

Spock continued shaving. "Doppler?"

"Sound waves."

"I am aware of what the ancient device emits, Doctor." The man had valid reasons to want the items, possibly wishing of course to have them on hand as a physician… Spock decided to use this as an excuse to enquire further. "I will supply these items if you tell me precisely why you want them."

"Do I have to explain everything to you?" McCoy stomped off towards the kitchen.

After long moments, he returned.

"Alright. Spock," McCoy said, looking down at his feet. "Listen to me. I want those items because..." He sighed. "I'm pregnant."

Spock promptly sliced his chin, grunting at the pain.

McCoy looked up at the noise. "Oh, shit."

Spock huffed in audible frustration and dropped the razor into the sink water. McCoy quickly grabbed a washcloth and dabbed at the blood. "I suppose this is the Vulcan equivalent of hitting the ceiling. Sorry. You really did a number on your face. Nice job. Sit down." He pushed Spock to sit on the toilet seat, wiped more blood, holding the towel against Spock's chin in an attempt to stem the flow. "Hold that there."

Spock watched as McCoy grabbed a handful of toilet paper, pulled the washcloth away and pressed the wad to the cut. "Toilet paper is expensive," he said.

"I know that! There's something in toilet paper that stems bleeding." McCoy continued fussing. "I don't have a styptic pencil so this has to suffice."

Spock grabbed onto McCoy's wrist, holding it. "This is no time for joking."

"Spock, I wish I was."

"You believe that you are pregnant?"

McCoy shook off Spock's hand, continued what he was doing and did not reply.

"Doctor."

McCoy sat down heavily on the edge of the bathtub. He rubbed a protective hand along his bare abdomen. "I'm 90 percent certain."

Spock blew out a puff of air in an entirely uncharasteric move. "We have a problem."

"Understatement of the century, Mr. Spock."

"Our captors did this to you," Spock said gently.

McCoy got up and walked into the kitchen. "You're gonna be late for work," he called back, his voice cracking ever so slightly.

Spock nodded in the man's wake. He picked up the brush, smeared more cream on his face and resumed shaving.

* * *

"Goddammit! What is that smell?" McCoy scrunched up his nose. Seemed like a combination of cooking odors...uhhhh...liver and onions... and cigars. It made him nauseous. Soon there came the loud sound of: 'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy'. Jesus Christ.

He dove into the bathroom and puked then stormed over to the adjacent apartment unit and knocked on the door.

The man opened it: "Yeah?" Of course he was chomping on a cigar.

"Would you mind," (McCoy counted it off on his fingers): "Keeping the noise level down, not fixing liver for lunch and keep the smoking to a minimum? I do have to share a wall with you. You're making my living area uninhabitable."

The man blew smoke into his face and slammed the door.

"Goddamned apartment dwellers! Fuck all of you!" McCoy seethed as he stomped back down the hall.

* * *

As was now becoming the norm, the doctor had dinner waiting when Spock came 'home' from work. Tonight it was a vegetable casserole with potatoes.

Spock set down on the nightstand a cage containing a six week old white female rabbit. Also a test tube, the hypodermic, the eyedropper and the glass beaker, the suture needle, cat gut suture thread, a scalpel and surgical scissors. "This was all I could obtain at this point," he called out. "The other items are currently located in a locked glass case."

"Even a stethoscope? I find that hard to believe. It's not like it's a controlled substance."

"I believe they were having trouble with theft."

"That looks like a pet store rabbit."

"It is."

"Oh. Well. Come here and eat your supper."

Spock sat down at the kitchen table and in the ensuing silence consumed much of his serving of casserole. Apparently he was hungrier than first thought. McCoy doled out to him another serving when he had finished.

Throughout the meal, however, McCoy seemed especially withdrawn, sullen. "Did you have a nice day at work?" he asked, tightly.

Spock cleared his throat and stood up. "I shall wash the dishes."

"Don't injure yourself."

* * *

In the bathroom, Spock stood by as McCoy held up the glass beaker, inspecting it. "Even though I'm a male, any blastocysts in my body will be giving off the telltale hCG pregnancy hormone. In the early twentieth century, they used to inject a woman's urine into an animal such as a rabbit or a frog, then dissect it to study its ovaries which would then enlarge and show follicular maturation after injection of the hormone laden urine." McCoy undid his trousers, pulled them down and hesitated before lowering his underwear. "You're gonna watch me…?"

"Pardon?"

"May I have some privacy please? I know this little bioassay is terribly fascinating but I have to urinate in this here beaker and I'll develop performance anxiety if somebody's staring at my dick."

"Ah. Forgive me." Spock turned around, walked out and left the doctor to it.

Approximately five minutes later, McCoy came out, holding up the filled beaker. "Get the rabbit out of the cage."

Spock did so, holding the creature, petting it while McCoy readied the hypodermic.

"Turn her over." McCoy injected the urine into the rabbit's abdomen. "Alright, sweetheart, time to do your stuff."

Spock raised an eyebrow.

"Now we wait a couple days," McCoy told him. "Put her back into the cage. Give her a little carrot or some lettuce to munch on."

* * *

Amid the sounds of the Pike amusement area outside their apartment window-which always appeared to be louder late at night-McCoy relayed to Spock, in bed: "I remember I watched as they cut me open and inserted the uterus and ovaries. They administered a drug to make certain my body would not reject it. I don't know what it was. All I know is that they used hypodermic needles. How unsanitary. They created an egg from my own DNA. Then they inseminated that egg with a semen sample. Not my own-at least I don't believe so-probably theirs. They shot a hormone accelerator: estrogen and progesterone into my system. They then implanted the zygote into the womb, tested me to make sure I was carrying a viable pregnancy, then they closed me up."

As McCoy ran a finger down the now faint scar on his lower abdomen, his voice was matter of fact, as if he was merely writing a medical journal. "Just. Like. That."

"You saw everything?" Spock asked. "You were not unconscious?"

"They'd administered anesthesia, but it wasn't strong enough. So I was paralyzed but awake. I could see and feel it all. It was…agonizing... I passed out soon after, though. Loss of blood."

Spock nodded solemnly. "Your screams. I felt them."

"Screams? I couldn't scream. Not at all." McCoy took a deep shuddering breath. "I don't know if I was more terrified or fascinated. I have no idea how we're going to get it out of me."

"They did not create a birth canal in your body?"

"No. Nothing like that. No opening. I still have a penis and testes. I remember begging them..." McCoy's voice cracked. "I remember..." He grimaced.

"Are you alright?"

McCoy swallowed. "Yeah. I remember begging them not to cut off my sexual organs. They didn't. Maybe they should have given me a vagina...but I don't know if they would have..." He stopped again and cleared his throat. "As I said, I still have a penis and testes. However the heavy male influx of testosterone has been disabled. I can't get erections. So it in effect it is... castration. I am not certain if that is permanent or not."

"Why would they do this?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Spock. Did they ever speak to you? Tell you what they wanted? Who they were? Did you ever get an inkling?"

"No."

"Some type of male fertility experiments? Maybe a lab rat for them. Maybe simple torture. Why? Did they want to kill me or us? They might just succeed in causing my death, taking an innocent life along with me. And since we are in 1941 with no decent medical care, no decent drugs, no tri-corder to check on the baby's progress…. I have no idea if this child is still viable or going to make it to term or not."

"Doctor, you cannot carry this child to term. Not now."

"Spock, are you…are you actually suggesting that I terminate this?"

"Of course not, but you cannot possibly be successful in delivering a healthy child."

"Well, there's no way around it. Nothing we can do. I'm like a ticking time bomb. But, I damn well have to try to carry this fetus to term. That's for sure."

"The birth," Spock began.

"Will require a Cesarian Section, but who the hell's gonna perform it, me?"

"A hospital."

"A hospital?!" McCoy laughed, bitterly. "What on a freak like me? In this day and age? Spock. Human male pregnancy is rare even in our time. I'm going to be fifty years old soon. The only other cases involving human male pregnancies were on men in their twenties. I mean, the prognosis would be much improved were we on the Enterprise."

"It is most imperative that the captain locates us."

"I love how you continually state the goddamned obvious! Well, Commander, if you have any big ideas on how we can hasten our rescue, now's the time!"

"Not at present."

McCoy turned over, yanking the covers up to his neck. "Goodnight," he snapped.

* * *

_'spock, what is that?'_

_his hands ghost over the controls of the shuttle. 'i am not picking the vessel up on my sensors, however it is apparent you and i both see it with our own eyes. it most likely a phantom, quite common in uninhabited sectors of deep space.'_

_'should we hail them to make certain? i don't recognize the craft, do you?'_

_he pushed a control. 'shuttlecraft gallileo to unknown vessel, please identify yourself.' there was no response._

_'are they scanning us?'_

_'negative.'_

_'maybe it is a phantom. at any rate, we're gonna be late to the medical conference. let's get out of here.'_

_'agreed.' his hands flutter once again over the controls to undertake a course change. the phantom craft moves rapidly to block them. 'phantom or not, dr. mccoy, they do not wish us to leave.'_

* * *

Spock had been concentrating on performing the menial task of sweeping the dingy white tile floor at the hospital, when his supervisor, or 'boss' as they called it, brushed past him.

"Excuse me," Spock said.

"Go fuck yourself. Goddamned Jap," the man replied.

"Pardon?"

"You heard me. Jap."

"What is a 'Jap'?"

"Listen, Herb," the man called out, laughing. "Idiot doesn't even know what a Jap is. It's a Japanese, you idiot."

"'Ah. A Japanese person? You are terribly mistaken, I am not Japanese," Spock informed him.

"Coulda fooled me, with your yellow skin. Go on back home, leave the jobs for honest American men." The man sauntered off with his friend, still grumbling.

In the man's wake, Spock went over to the locked cabinet, leaned over to listen to the combination lock click. Somehow thievery became much easier, much more satisfying to accomplish, after that barrage of insults.

* * *

Kneeling down in the bathroom, McCoy paused and drew his elbow over his sweaty forehead. He leaned over and rinsed out the filthy rag into the bucket filled with soapy water. "Greenblooded son of a bitch. Having himself a great time working at the hospital. Meanwhile, I'm stuck here cleaning a fucking toilet."

And again, through the wall, was the goddawful sound of: 'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy'."

"Today you're cleaning all the toilets," the supervisor said.

"Every toilet in the building?" Spock asked.

"You got a problem with that, Jap?"

"Negative. And I am not Japanese."

The supervisor thrust the cleaning materials, the mop and bucket at Spock. "Sure you're not. First one's in there. Full of vomit. Enjoy it, Jap."

Spock reached the first bathroom, caught the odor and recoiled in disgust. He closed his eyes a moment, then he entered.

_carrying the doctor, closer and closer to escape, suddenly the man screams at him...'put me down, put me down, please i'm gonna be sick...put me down...'_

_in spite of himself, he lowers the man to the floor 'hurry,' he pleads. the man vomits, it sprays everywhere...the odor hits him...nauseating him..._

* * *

When Spock arrived at the apartment, McCoy seemed satisfied with the items he had been able to procure. "Good. This will be fine." McCoy whistled at the equipment. "Look at this stuff!"

"No doppler, I am afraid."

"It's okay, it was wishful thinking. Stethoscope will work, for my purposes. Alright, Mr. Spock? You ready to help me operate on a rabbit?"

"Certainly." Spock went over to wash his hands.

McCoy collected the suture needle and scalpel. "As soon as i'm done sterilizing this equipment, we'll begin." He sterilized the scalpel, the needle and the scissors. "Take her out of her cage." Spock handed the rabbit over to McCoy, who held it up to it's face and kissed it. "Spock you didn't get me anything to sedate her with."

"Nothing was available. I can deliver a nerve pinch to the creature to render it unconscious."

"Good. In the old days, they used to just kill 'em. We don't need to do that." He handed the creature over and snapped the gloves on. "Pinch away."

Spock laid the unconscious rabbit on her back on the kitchen table. McCoy made an incision with the scalpel then gently drew out one ovary. "It's enlarged, just like it should be."

"Does that confirm your diagnosis?"

"Up to 99.99 percent certain. The rabbit test has a 2 percent failure rate but this is a success. A rodent's ovaries don't increase in size like this at this fast a rate on their own. However, I didn't bother with studying the baseline. I'm assuming the ovaries were normal to begin with."

"Ah. I accept your findings even with the neglect of obtaining baseline readings."

"Why, thank you, Mr. Spock." McCoy performed some more some more cuts to the internal organs of the animal. "She's now sterile." He laid the ovaries and the womb next to the creature. He sewed up the internal organs, then the incision. He tied the catgut into a knot and cut it off. "Alright. Put the girl back in her cage to recuperate."

Spock did so then assisted McCoy with clean up.

Afterwards, McCoy slipped on the earpieces of the stethoscope. He reached over under Spock's shirt and slid the bare metal disk onto Spock's side, over his heart.

Spock winced at the cold metal touching his skin. McCoy appeared delighted to have gotten a physical reaction, then listened intently. "Been a long time since i've listened to a heart through one of these. Shame it's a Vulcan one, but beggars can't be choosy."

"That is to monitor yourself, not I. Please remove it."

McCoy chuckled and did as asked. "I should be able to hear the baby's heart when the time comes."

* * *

On to the next part...


	2. November

**November**

**LONG BEACH INDEPENDENT NEWSPAPER**

**'U.S. Attacks Reich, Howl Nazis'**

**Berlin emphasizes charges that U.S. Seeks War Against Nazis'**

**The German government sought last night to represent the United States as the aggressor in the battle of the Atlantic. The move to place responsibility for clashes between US and German Naval units on the shoulders of the Washington Government was made in a communique issued by Adolf Hitler's headquarters.**

* * *

**'Opening of "Skylark" Brings Audiences to New Playhouse'**

**Audience of the Long Beach Community Players were 'first nighters' in two respects-they were present at the opening of the new play, "Skylark," and saw the first production given at the new location, 840 Lime Avenue. Cast of the current sophisticated comedy is headed by Iola Josephson and Dick Hoffman, and includes: DeForest Kelley, Marjorie Simmons Garner, Virginia Bell Hofman, Robert Pack, Richard Dinzy, Josephy Baker and Richard Hellman. (Friday November 7, 1941) **

* * *

_**Fluoroscopic X-Ray! Brand New Radioactive Machine. See Your Own heart, stomach, Colon with your own eyes! $2.00'**_

* * *

"Well, that contraption looks really fucking safe," McCoy muttered to himself as he strode past the sign. He stopped in front of the shop he had been searching for: Mueller Optometrist, 'Do your eyes cause you numerous ailments? We can help'. A bell attached to the frame jingled as he opened the door and walked in.

An young attractive woman working behind the counter, looked up. "May I help you?"

"Yes." McCoy slid over a small piece of paper. "I need the cheapest pair of eyeglasses I can get with this prescription."

"Name, please?"

"Leonard McCoy."

She studied the handwriting on the paper. "I'm sorry, sir, but you can't write your own prescription."

"Yes I can. I'm a doctor."

"You have beautiful penmanship for a doctor." He smiled slightly at that. "There's a selection of spectacles over on the wall. Have a look, see which pair you prefer."

"Are they cheap?"

She giggled. "Cheap enough. Surely you can afford them, being a doctor."

He went over to the display with her following him. "I'm a doctor without a job."

"Ah. Well, these are pretty reasonable. And they look swell, too. Do you need help making a selection?"

He shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

She picked out a pair of wire rimmed glasses. "Why don't you try these?"

He took them from her, flipping them over in his hand. "They look so fragile. The lenses are made of glass?"

"Of course." She took them back. "Here." She unfolded them, held it up to his face but he jerked his head back a little. "Ever worn eyeglasses before?"

"No," he admitted, honestly. "I can't say I have."

"Well, lucky you." McCoy couldn't keep himself from shifting back as she tried to put them on his face. "Now, you're not being very helpful," she said, in a slightly sultry tone. "I'm not going to hurt you."

He smiled again, bashful. "Sorry."

"Anyone ever tell ya you have beautiful eyes?"

He blushed under her intense gaze. "Beautiful?"

"In a masculine way," she assured him as she slipped the frames onto his face, adjusting the ear pieces behind his ears. "There. Take a look." He turned to the mirror and gasped. The small wire frames changed his appearance quite dramatically. "Swell, aren't they? Even with your long hair. We just got these in."

McCoy couldn't stop staring at himself in the mirror. "How much?"

"I like you, so I'll cut you a deal. Come back at 5pm sharp. They'll be ready for ya."

That certainly caught him off guard. "You can do that?"

* * *

McCoy had approximately three hours to kill before the eyeglasses were ready. He walked the small distance over to 'Woolworth's', sat down at the counter and ordered a vanilla milkshake.

As the 'soda jerk', dressed entirely in white, slid the tall glass over to him, he felt a wave irrational panic well up at the color of the man's attire.

"Calm down, McCoy...he's not one of them," he mumbled to himself.

He dipped the long spoon into the thick, welcoming goodness of the malt. He had to hand it to these folks, the milkshakes in this time were quite possibly the most delicious thing he'd ever consumed in his life, creamy and beat the Enterprise reconstituted fare any day. In fact all of the food in the 20th century was a lot richer, more flavorful. Obviously these people didn't add the myriad of preservatives that was common in contemporary—(twenty-third century, he meant), time.

He had made the effort to eschew coffee and alcohol and he'd be lying if he said he didn't miss those two drinks so goddamned much—God, he could use a glass of bourbon right now- but maybe these vanilla milkshakes made up for all of those sacrifices during his—

The idea of him, Leonard H. McCoy, pregnant…a child growing inside of his own body…. Living in a womb, off of a placenta inside of him-he had to admit it terrified him. Of course it would. How could he do this and survive? Not to mention the poor fetus. What the child would look like? Them?

It was strange, he barely remembered the kidnapping itself-he did vaguely recollect three figures-white robes, gloves and masques- suddenly appearing on their shuttle, forcibly taking him and Spock via gunpoint to their laboratory-but the surgery to impregnate him, that was so vivid, he could never forget it. When he stroked his scars on his belly, he could still feel the piercing blade of the scalpel.

His own physical changes, notwithstanding, were textbook: the unfamiliar hormones coursing though his body constantly reminding him that something was amiss. His ankles were beginning to swell up. His bones would continue to soften. He was still nauseous, not only every morning when it was at it's worst point, but all day. His joints ached. He tired easily. He still wanted to pee every five minutes.

Right off the bat his skin had felt softer, smoother. Hair and beard, not as coarse. In fact he might not need to even shave, by the end of it. He was rounder all over. His pectorals could now be considered small breasts. His nipples had enlarged, become tender. He could feel them scraping against the fabric of his undershirt as he moved to drink his malt. Even his voice was softer, pitched slightly higher than usual.

He certainly felt less of man, more of a freak with each coming day. Of course as a physician he knew intellectually what should be normal, but that was nothing compared to experiencing it firsthand.

His perceptions, emotions seemed off. Not to mention, being in this city at this time, felt like a dream... or a nightmare.

Even if he hadn't been stuck in 1941, this condition of his would be hell, his body wasn't built for this. Everything was absolutely against his will, but now it had happened, he was resolute.

Bones was just going to have deal with it.

Spock would, wouldn't he?

They couldn't-

They couldn't discuss this with anybody. No Jim, no Nurse Chapel, no Dr. M'Benga, no Sanchez, no sickbay, no monitoring, no ship.

Sure he'd had a baby once before, or more precisely Joss had. Yes, he'd tried to empathize, tried to make her comfortable, like any good husband would, with what her body was going through those nine months, but nobody understands what it feels like, not really, unless they were actually pregnant themselves.

Plus he'd been always working, never around...

Maybe he might have contacted Joss, talked to her about what was happening to him...she'd laugh her head off...this was the perfect revenge, he knew her...but he could have called her.

Joanna didn't exist yet.

It was unbelievable to think that Jim hadn't been born yet, anyone on board the Enterprise, none of them existed at this very point in time.

Just Spock and him against the world.

"Smile," a middle aged man in a grey wool suit called over to him, taking a long draw on his cigarette and blowing out smoke rings. "Things aren't that bad. War hasn't even started yet. Soon as they start drafting everybody, then it will be."

McCoy coughed and fanned at the smoke. "You know those things cause cancer?"

"Do what, now?" the man replied.

"Never mind." McCoy threw the money on the counter to pay for the malt and got the hell out of Woolworth's.

Next door stood a barber shop with the striped barber pole he'd only seen in old photographs.

After a moment's hesitation he went inside.

A half hour later his head felt cold after the $1.00 haircut. His usual waves-that normally only appeared when his hair was wet- were oddly prominent with the styling product they put into it. Now much shorter in front, the bangs gone, they'd combed it over with a side part, just like the barber's own hair. Gone were the 'Starfleet points' on his now much shorter sideburns.

He hadn't intended that to happen, but the whistling, cigar smoking, jovial man shaved off one side with a buzzing pair of electric clippers, so of course he had to do the other.

After leaving the barber shop, he was aware of this being the first time he truly fit in. Before, most folks spared the outsider an odd second glance, now he was a local.

He finally reached Mueller Optometrist at 5:10pm. "Sorry I'm late."

The clerk seemed to smile approvingly at his new appearance. "Oh…that's fine. Have a seat." She waved him over to a chair in front of a table and mirror, picked up the glasses and sat down across from him. "I'll just need to adjust these."

She finally slid them onto his face, busying herself with a tiny screwdriver. In this closer proximity, McCoy could smell her perfume, not too overpowering but pleasant. "What do ya think?" she asked him when she finished.

"Hey," he said, impressed.

"Better?"

"I can see."

She continued giving him that critical eye. "They're still a little crooked. Here." She adjusted them again. He noticed her brown, shoulder length hair, with the slight bumps on top of each side-an interesting hairstyle- like many of the other women he'd seen so far. He still couldn't figure out for the life of him how they got it to look like that. "You're not from around here," she said. "Are you from the South?"

"Georgia."

"Been here long?"

"Not long."

"There. Now, that looks mighty fine." She went over to the till. He followed. "Fill out this card for our files." She handed him a pen. He filled it out with a flourish. "22 Chestnut Place? The Sovereign Apartments? I live there, too. On the ninth floor."

He wasn't certain how to respond to that. "Oh."

"That'll be three dollars and fifty cents."

He handed her a five. She smiled at him, flashing beautiful blue eyes, as she gave him the change. "Thank you," he said, politely.

"Maybe I'll see you around."

"Huh?"

"The building. I said, I live in your building, too. On the ninth floor. Apartment 97. With my roommate." She held out her hand. "The name's Myrtle."

"Myrtle?" He shook her hand delicately. "That's an interesting name. I've never heard that one before."

"Really? Maybe there's no Myrtles in the south. We sure have plenty of 'em around here. Too many."

"Oh," McCoy said. "Well, uh…I suppose I'll see you around."

* * *

McCoy made his way back to The Sovereign, orientating himself to wearing the eyeglasses, which made everything appear to dip in front of him. He'd walked down Pike Avenue, going into the entrance of the Pike through the tall 'Pacific Securities' building, cutting through the midway filled with various carnival style rides such as the 'Tilt a Wirl' and the 'Dodgems' over to Seaside Way, when he passed by 'Looff's Amusements'. The small building housed a caroselle with wooden carved horses and a 'Lite a Line' game, topped by a strange dome shaped roof.

Almost dreamily he lingered over the caroselle, entranced by the horses going round and round and the steam powered calliope style organ playing a song he could not recognize. It had a calming effect on him, like watching an aquarium of fish.

As he finally turned to leave he noticed a 'Help Wanted,' sign in the window with an arrow directing enquires around the corner.

He took a deep breath, entered the small alleyway towards the small administrative office.

* * *

Spock took in McCoy's new physical appearance when the man arrived back at the apartment, tilting his head at the sight of the delicate eyewear but he refrained from comment. "Where have you been, Doctor?"

"I had a few errands to run and... I got a job."

Spock stopped short. "A job?"

"Yes. A job. Finally."

"Where?"

"Working part-time at 'Looff's caroselle' at The Pike. Not much of a wage but at least it'll help with the rent." McCoy removed his jacket and undid his tie. "What do you want for supper?"

"Should you be employed in your condition?"

"My condition? Spock. I can work. Shouldn't be too much longer before the captain finds us, right? It'll be fine. All it entails is taking tickets and operating the carousel ride. Easy."

Spock sighed.

"What?!" McCoy threw his hands up.

"You should not be employed."

"We need the money. What do want me to do? Sit on my ass all day? Knitting? Keeping house? Have supper waiting for you every night? Women work up until the very last week before they deliver, all the time!"

"You are not a woman."

"Don't I know it. If we could even afford to eat well enough on just your pay-"

"I do not require you to do anything for me. If you budgeted our finances better we could in fact afford everything on my wage."

"Bullshit! My budgeting is just fine! You try and do better."

"I can." McCoy smacked his hand down on the table in response. Spock ignored the outburst. "I am, of course, concerned for your personal safety and that of the child."

"I'm fine. Okay? Lay off."

* * *

**"…all men between the ages of eighteen and fifty years old must register for the peacetime draft. Sign up today at every post office, library or at special draft outlets throughout Los Angeles county. Remember, your country is counting on you."**

McCoy scoffed as they caught a remnant of the radio broadcast, while filing through the Sovereign's foyer to the staircase. "The peacetime draft? That's a laugh. Good thing we're not gonna be here that long."

* * *

McCoy glanced up from his nighttime snack of grapes and apples, as soon as the song, from through the walls, started playing: 'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy'.

"Now that's just goddamned annoying," he growled. He stared daggers at Spock, engrossed in the newspaper. "How can you stand that...noise?"

Spock shrugged.

"You know, it's Human to do that," McCoy huffed. "Shrugging. You picked that up from one of us. Didn't you?!"

"I do not know what you are talking about."

McCoy belched, balling his fist to his diaphram.

"Doctor, please excuse yourself."

"Oh, for God sakes. I'm pregnant, I happen to have a lot of gas. So sue me."

* * *

_another game show. he's at some kind of podium or something…family members are supposed to be standing next to him but he's alone…_

_he thinks…'is that richard dawson?' 'are you really richard dawson?' he calls out. 'the ancient game show host? the guy from hogan's heros? you've been dead…for hundreds of years!'_

_'hi doll! i'm one and the same!' richard dawson comes up and plants a firm kiss onto his mouth._

_'hi,' he says when they break apart._

_'one hundred people surveyed, ask the board, what happens when one goes into labor?'_

_'when one goes into labor?'_

_'yes, do you have an answer?" richard dawson leans against the podium, playing with his cue cards. 'i know you can do it!'_

_'uh…they deliver a baby?'_

_'survey says!"_

_'XXX' _

_'ohhhh, i am so sorry! time for the other side to answer!'_

_the opposite family are in a huddle, they break apart. _

_'do you have an answer?' richard dawson asks._

_'they die!'_

_'good answer…good answer!'_

* * *

On Thanksgiving day, they both found themselves, coincidentally, with the entire day off, having never experienced this anomaly while on board ship. Any holidays in deep space were always just another work day, albeit with some form of celebration involved on off duty time (that is, for crew born in 'Earth Federation America' what was once called the USA).

All morning, Spock busied himself performing some badly needed repairs to the linoleum in the bathroom. A standard hour and a half later he called out: "Doctor?"

McCoy appeared at the doorway, brandishing a wooden spoon. He balled his hand up at his diaphragm, letting out a soft belch. "Hmm?"

"I shall scrub the floor in here. It is rather filthy."

"Oh, thanks a lot! I just mopped in here, yesterday. Not my fault it doesn't stay clean."

"Apparently your efforts are not thorough enough. I shall clean it properly on my hands and knees."

"Suit yourself. Ain't gonna make a lick of difference tomorrow, no how, anyways!" McCoy walked back to the kitchen.

"Doctor, it would be helpful if you spoke to me in Federation Standard so that you may be entirely understood, rather than Earth colloquialisms."

"Federation Standard, my ass!" McCoy yelled back. "You understood me, plenty. Now, you just bein' deliberately obtuse."

Another hour later: "Come and get it," McCoy gruffly called out.

Spock came to the table and was rather startled to discover that McCoy had cooked an entire Thanksgiving style 'dinner' comprised of a large turkey, with stuffing, potatoes and an assortment of vegetables. Including a loaf of baked bread and a pie. "How did you accomplish all of this?"

"Never mind that. Eat, before it gets cold."

Spock sat down. "Certainly."

The meal seemed rather odd and quiet with just the two of them present, but it was pleasant enough.

Spock surprised even himself at how much he consumed.

"I remember…when…uh…" McCoy chuckled as he ate. "Jim and I went away for shoreleave on Wrigley's for Thanksgiving, I think Scotty was along, too. Yeah, he was. But Wrigley's they're always trying to copy Earth holidays, but they don't do it properly, there's no meaning attached. We ate some godawful turkey at some shit-hole restaurant, then spent the rest of the day bar hopping and then later puking up the damned turkey. Had to treat us for alcohol poisoning. Wasn't funny at the time but..."

McCoy trailed off, suddenly quiet and serious again for long moments. "You can have the stuffing." He pointed. "There's no meat in it. I made sure to fix it like that, so you could eat it. Try it. I insist."

Spock did so, taking a bite. It seemed easiest to obey, rather than argue at this point.

"What do you think?"

Spock nodded. "Adequate."

"Adequate? That all you have to say?"

"You are not eating the turkey," Spock noted.

"Meat gives me stomach ache these days. I'll save the turkey for later. Maybe I'll make some sandwiches for the neighbors, or donate it to the shelter."

"If neither one of us consumes the turkey, then why go through all the trouble of cooking it?"

"Because it is traditional, Mr. Spock."

"You have not done so on board the Enterprise."

"Because, we have-What difference does it make? I am now! I used to fix the Thanksgiving turkey back home in Georgia, at least before the goddamned five year mission. Is celebrating a holiday alright with you? Or must I run everything by you, first? Commander?"

"I merely-"

"Have some pie. It's pumpkin. Good for the ol' Vulcan bowels. You can have pumpkin pie."

"I am unfamiliar with pumpkin pie."

"I didn't ask you if you were familiar, I said: 'eat it'!"

* * *

McCoy was often working the weekends at Looff's Amusements on the Pike, while Spock worked Monday through friday, twelve hours a day, at the Harriman Jones clinic.

Every morning, Spock alighted the bus on Ocean Avenue, walking the few blocks to the intersection of Broadway and Cherry to the clinic's entrance. Right before entering the hospital he would again check the vicinity of the area—any ripple or anomaly to suggest the portal might be open. At his meal breaks he again went outside to investigate. There was never any indication it had ever existed. Any re-entry would carry a huge risk, as they faced an uncertain future and certain captivity, but at least they would presumably return to their own time.

However, as alien Long Beach as had been to them at first, it was becoming home and was certainly better than the medical facility.

He found that he did not mind living in such cramped conditions with McCoy. The man had proved to be an extremely tidy, fastidious roommate. The apartment, as dingy and rundown as it was did require a huge amount of effort to keep clean. McCoy did so, not without complaint, as was not unusual, however he appeared to be rather efficient in his daily tasks.

Spock found himself relying on the doctor more for domestic duties than he was comfortable with.

* * *

On to the next part...


	3. December

**December**

They entered the lobby of the apartment building and were about to head towards the back to the staircase, when they spotted two attractive young women sitting dejectedly on the sofa near the fireplace. A man seated at a piano next to the girls played annoyingly cheerful Christmas music.

McCoy appeared to recognize one of the girls as she called out to him. "Hey look! It's Dr. McCoy! Hi, Doctor! See, I remembered your name."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "You two know each other?"

"She fitted me with my eyeglasses," McCoy mumbled to Spock. "How all y'all doing?" he said, greeting the girls.

Myrtle nudged her friend. "See, I told you he was from the south."

"Doctor, huh? What are you doing living in this dump?"

Myrtle elbowed her friend. "Carolyn," she hissed.

"Who's your friend?" Carolyn asked.

"Oh," McCoy said. "Sorry. This is Spock."

"Ooh! Tall, dark and handsome." The woman's eyes narrowed at him. "Are you Japanese?"

Myrtle kicked Carolyn. "Please excuse Carolyn Meagher, my roommate."

"Hi!" Carolyn said, cheerfully.

"Hello, Madame," Spock replied. "I am not Japanese."

Carolyn giggled. "You two gentlemen wouldn't' know how to dance, would ya?"

Myrtle elbowed her friend yet again. "Carolyn!"

"Well," Carolyn replied, testily. "It sure doesn't look like those two lunkheads are showing up, does it?"

"What's the matter?" McCoy asked.

Carolyn and Myrtle both pouted like two schoolgirls. "We got stood up," they said in unison.

"Aw," McCoy said, sympathetically. "That's a shame."

"You two know how to Jitterbug?"

"Jitterbug? Am I to assume that is a type of dance? No, I do not," Spock informed them. McCoy elbowed him.

"Damn," Carolyn said. "Tonight was my first Friday night off in weeks!"

"She works at Calslip on Terminal Island," Myrtle explained.

"And these two navy men, offered to take us out and look-" Carolyn handed McCoy the newspaper advertisement:

**"Majestic Ballroom**

**Jitterbug contest**

**A Grand Ole Time Dance. Big Cash Prizes.**

**Music by Frankie Gould and his Famous 11 piece orchestra."**

"-and they didn't even have the decency to show up."

"Maybe they shipped out," Myrtle offered.

"They better have if they know what's good for 'em. We're gonna miss Frankie Gould and his famous eleven piece orchestra!"

McCoy turned to Spock. "What do you think? Should we escort these lovely young ladies to the ball?"

"It is illogical to attend a dance if one does not know now to perform it adequately."

"What'd he say?" Carolyn asked.

"He said, he'd be delighted to'." At that, Spock glared at McCoy. "Oh, come on, Spock. It's Frankie Gould and his famous eleven piece orchestra!"

* * *

"Fascinating," Spock said as they finally entered the Majestic Ballroom. Back at the apartment, they had quickly darted upstairs to put on the nicest suits they owned, over the top of that a newly acquired trench coat (also from the sale rack at Buffum's) for McCoy and a heavy black peacoat for Spock as the weather was cold, along with his knitted blue beanie he always wore when outside or in the company of others.

"Is this a date?" McCoy had wondered aloud to Spock as they'd changed clothing. "I believe, Mr. Spock, that we have dates."

"Dates?"

"Taking two girls out would constitute a double date. How do we get ourselves into these things?"

"We are merely accompanying the women to a dance."

"That's a date."

"If you insist."

"Well, whatever it is," McCoy said, "it'll take my mind off of things."

Thankfully they'd had enough monetary funds to pay for both girls and themselves to enter the establishment after a short wait in line.

"It sure is smoky in here," McCoy complained. He waved the hazy Majestic air in front of his nose. A christmas tree sat in the center of the packed ballroom. Couples danced on a parquet floor. Seating ran along the walls, along with tables in one corner. Beautiful angel murals were painted on the ceiling. "Don't these idiots know cigarette smoke is a carcinogen?"

"Carcinogen?" Carolyn asked. "Don't be dingy."

"Don't be what?" McCoy wondered.

"Well, he is a doctor," Myrtle replied. "So he might know."

"MIGHT know?!" McCoy shook his head at the girls. "Hey, should we get a table?" He spotted an open one. "There!" he said, with much more exuberance than was necessary.

The girls squealed with approval and the four headed towards the table. McCoy pulled out Myrtle's chair, slid off her fur coat, setting the delicate item on the back of it.

Spock took McCoy's lead, pulling out Carolyn's chair then removing Carolyn's coat. "Is this real animal pelt?" he asked, unable to disguise the horror in his voice.

"You betcha," Carolyn replied. "It cost a bundle."

"I see."

"Spock, Spock." McCoy elbowed him. "You ladies want a drink?"

"Of course," the two girls said. "Gin and tonic and a gin and tonic."

"Two gin and tonics. Don't go away." McCoy nodded at Spock and made his way to the bar.

"Doesn't your friend's head get cold?" Carolyn asked Spock.

"Pardon?"

"The doctor never wears a hat."

"Personal preference," Spock informed her.

"Oh, well Christmas is coming up soon," Myrtle said. "Maybe Santa Claus will bring him one."

"Santa Claus?"

"Yeah. Santa delivers to grown ups, too, you know."

Spock raised an eyebrow.

McCoy finally returned with the drinks for the ladies. "Now, I have to go back for the water. Only have two hands!"

"I shall fetch the water," Spock said. "Please, sit."

McCoy pointed the way. "Bar's over there."

The band began playing another upbeat tune. "Oh, 'Rampart Street Blues'! I love this song!" Carolyn said.

"Song's ancient, but you can dance to it," Myrtle said.

"Ancient? Hoagy Carmichael will never be ancient!" Carolyn huffed.

"Well, the song's not bad!" McCoy agreed, politely.

"Water?" Carolyn said. "That's your poison, huh?"

"Uh, yes. Spock and I don't drink booze."

"Why not?"

"Uh..." He wasn't going to explain that he was a pregnant man who was forced to abstain and Spock being a Vulcan, did not normally imbibe. "Medical reasons."

"Medical reasons?"

"Maybe you're just trying to get us ladies sloshed so you can have our wicked way with us," Myrtle said.

"No, no. That is not it at all," McCoy said, indignant. "We do have a legit medical reason."

"Like what?" Carolyn scoffed. Myrtle kicked Carolyn under the table again. "If you don't quit kicking me..."

Myrtle laughed and said to McCoy: "Well maybe I don't mind you getting me sloshed and having your wicked way with me."

McCoy chuckled uncomfortably. "Oh, look here's Spock. Back already."

Spock set the glass of water down in front of McCoy. "The barman was displeased at my request."

"Probably because water's free. 'Aint gonna get himself a tip from it. This has gotta be soda water." McCoy tasted it and made a face. "It is."

Spock sat down across from McCoy. "Is it safe to consume?"

"Try it, it's safe alright. Carbonated."

Spock did and made a similar but somewhat less dramatic face to McCoy's. "This is indeed awful."

Carolyn pulled a tiny silver case out of her purse. She opened it up, pulling out a cigarette and handed one over to Myrtle. "Got a light?" Myrtle asked the doctor.

"I sure don't and I suggest you refrain from smoking. Actually I would strongly prefer you didn't," he said. "Lung Cancer, oral cancer, risk of myocardial infarction—that means heart attack, Ladies. Liver cancer. You name it. However, we're inhaling enough pollution inside this here dance hall to kill off a small army."

"Never mind!" Carolyn pouted. "I have a light,"

"I'll think I'll pass," Myrtle said, handing the cigarette back to Carolyn.

McCoy smiled. "I knew you were a smart lady."

"So," Carolyn asked. "You two men don't know how to Jitterbug?"

"No, I'm afraid not. I'm sorry, Darlin'."

"What are you, Baptist?"

"I am, actually, but that's not why I can't dance."

"These two sound like respectable men," Myrtle said, coming to McCoy's aid. "I remember reading in the paper a couple years ago, dance halls were trying to ban Jitterbugging for being vulgar, now everybody's doing it."

Two men in Naval Uniforms came sidling up, armed with dance tickets, asking Myrtle and Carolyn to dance. The girls looked at McCoy, he nodded and they took off.

"Hey," McCoy drawled softly in the four's wake. He watched the men spin the girls around on the dance floor. "Don't you know you don't steal another man's girl?"

"I must beg to differ with you, Doctor. Those are not 'our girls'."

"I know that, Spock. Just…wish I could dance. They look like they're having a blast."

"Would you be able to dance in your condition?"

"My condition..." McCoy glared at him. "Yes. Mr. Spock. Dancing, like that, is absolutely fine and great exercise. The dance makes absolutely no sense but it's nothing too strenuous."

The song ended and the girls rejoined them at the table. "That sure was fun!"

The band started playing a much slower song, the pairs began dancing much closer together. "Slow dancing," McCoy noted. "I can do that. A trained monkey could do that!"

"Do not be so certain, Doctor."

"It's a waltz. You're right, anybody can do that," Myrtle said.

McCoy got up, held out his hand to Myrtle. "Come on, Baby." He headed to the dance floor, with Myrtle in tow.

Spock met Carolyn's annoyed eyes. Apparently the young lady was not at all pleased to be sitting idle. He turned around to watch Myrtle and the doctor dancing extremely close together. At the end of the song, Myrtle leaned over to kiss him on the lips. The doctor seemed surprised, but not offended. He did not return the kiss but appeared to be pleased she had done so. He grabbed her closer until the song ended. Spock narrowed his eyes.

_on a completely white and deserted dance floor...he and the doctor are dancing, cheek to cheek, nude...the joy unmistakable on the man's face..._

Spock felt a cold, delicate hand on his arm and he turned back around. "They sure make a cute couple," Carolyn said.

He nodded solemnly at his water.

McCoy and Myrtle returned to the table, holding hands. "It's embarrassing out there."

"Really?" Spock said. "You appeared to know exactly what you were doing."

"Well, I guess that's what matters, we looked good. But Myrtle here's offered to teach me how to Jitterbug."

"How fortunate."

* * *

As they passed through the lobby of 'The Sovereign', the front desk attendant called out: "Mail for you." He held up an envelope.

Spock took it from him. "Thank you." He opened it up as they reached the staircase, studying the paper for long moments.

"What is it?" McCoy wondered.

Spock showed the document to him.

"I still can't figure out what the hell that is!" McCoy huffed.

"It is my draft card. Issued by the United States Federal government."

McCoy raised an eyebrow. "Draft card? Have you lost your marbles? When in the sam hell did you sign up for the draft?"

"Last week. They insisted I sign up at work. I had to participate, if I wanted to keep the position."

"Wow. These people don't fuck around."

"They do not."

They paused in front of the elevator. "Still out of order, dammit."

They slowly made their way up the stairs to the tenth floor. They traversed down the narrow hallway with the maroon carpet, to their door. Spock opened it up with a key. "Hopefully we'll be long gone before they call you in to the service," McCoy was telling him. "What name did you put down?"

Spock showed the card to McCoy. "Spock."

"Just Spock?"

"Yes."

"And they accepted that? No first name?"

"Spock is my first name."

"Did you put down your family name?"

Spock whispered: "Humans cannot pronounce it."

"You're right. I tried, and I can't. You should have written it down anyway, let them scratch their heads about that one."

Spock smirked at that. "Perhaps."

* * *

McCoy opened the door at the sharp knock. It was Myrtle. "Morning sunshine!" she said. "Where's your roommate?"

"He's at work." McCoy ushered her inside, kissing her hello on the cheek. "I was just about to start on some housework." He hadn't felt well early that morning, plus it had been a late night having to listen to the audio torture from next door of: 'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy' for the thirteenth time in row before he'd finally was able to drop off, exhausted- so he'd stayed in bed earlier in the morning while Spock had to conjure up his own breakfast.

"Housework? That's why you need a woman around here."

"I don't need a woman to wait on me. I do just fine."

Myrtle looked around. "It's pretty tidy. For a couple of men."

"Well, alright, then. Want a cup of herbal tea? Something to eat?"

"No, no. I'm fine. I came by to teach you how to dance, remember?"

"At ten o'clock in the morning?"

"It's my day off and morning's as fine a time for a dance lesson, as ever."

"I suppose." He opened the closet door and replaced the broom where it lived. "I don't know what we're gonna do for music."

"Oh. Don'cha have a phonograph? Or a radio set?"

"No on both counts."

"Huh. Well, then, we'll go to my place. Lucky for us, Carolyn's at work too, so we'll have it to ourselves."

He blushed. "Yeah…lucky for us."

They went down one flight of stairs and into Myrtle's apartment. The place was obviously inhabited by two young women, featuring a pair of twin beds, pink pillows, pink throw on the couch, fluffy white rug on the floor, delicate lace curtains and one cute little black and white kitten with blue eyes. "That's 'Stardust Melody'. She's how we keep the mice at bay," Myrtle said. She flipped on the radio, it warmed up for about thirty seconds then a big band song faded in on the airwaves. "'On The Sunny Side of the Street' by Tommy Dorsey Orchestra. This ones not too fast. I'll teach you the basic step first." She demonstrated. "See? Easy."

"I'm a doctor, not Fred Astaire."

She laughed, a full beautiful melodic laugh. "You'll be the swellest dancing doctor at the Majestic."

"Swellest? That can't be a word."

She laughed again. "Try this with me. One, two, ball change. You mirror my moves." He did as she asked. "See? You're fabulous!"

"I suppose." They continued with the basic box step.

"So…how long have you and Spock known each other?"

"You mean we have to carry on a conversation as we do this?" McCoy replied in mock annoyance.

"I was only curious." Myrtle batted her eyelashes and McCoy sighed.

"I've known him two years."

"Where'd ya meet?"

"In the…service."

"What ship were you stationed on?"

"This an interview? My ship is called the USS-" He hesitated for a moment, wondering how much he should tell her. He cleared his throat. "Well...It's out there, somewhere. Far away."

She studied his face for long moments. "You miss your ship."

"Yeah…I do," he said, truthfully. "It's a good ship. Great captain and crew. We're like a family. I hope to return to her, soon."

Myrtle appeared crestfallen. "Perhaps you will. What was your job on your ship?"

"Chief Medical Officer."

"What kind of doctor are you?"

"I'm a surgeon. But, I handle anything they throw at me. Xenobiology—" He stopped himself. "Uh…anything really. From the most minor complaint like a hangnail, to uh…complicated brain surgery, or dissections. Forensic—you know this is difficult to dance and talk at the same time."

"Xenobiology, what's that?"

"Oh, just an interest of mine."

"You didn't answer the question."

"It's the study of uh…alien life forms." He smiled.

"Alien?"

He cleared his throat. "Uh huh."

"Like Martians?"

He caught the sarcasm in her voice. "Something like that. Like I said it's just an interest of mine."

"Where'd you go to medical school?"

"The University of Mississippi. 'Ol' Miss' as we call it."

"Well…" she said, "at the rate things are going around here, you'll be drafted again before you know it."

"I'm a little too old to be drafted. Spock on the other hand-"

"How old are you?"

"Forty-nine."

"You look so young!"

"Thank you. I'm not gonna ask YOU your age, young lady."

"Thirty." She held up a hand. "I know. Old maid, right? Now lets try some turns. Here comes a little faster song: Rocking Chair by Hoagy Carmichael. If you can't Jitterbug to this, my goodness, you'll be hopeless." She showed him the moves. They were uncoordinated for a few moments. "Now look, here. You're a man, so act like a man. You gotta dance like a man."

"Dance like a man? Now, how in the world do I do that?"

"You lead. I follow. That's how it is in life. Be strong and tell me what we're gonna do."

"That makes absolutely no sense. Things are supposed to be equal." But he did as she asked.

Myrtle twirled herself around closer to his lips, was about to meet them, when he said: "Myrtle, uh…"

"Yeah?"

"Listen, I think it's about time to stop our dance lesson for today. I'm a little out of breath."

"Already? Alright, old man."

He nodded and pulled away from her, feeling for the femoral artery under his thumb.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Checking my pulse. It's a little fast."

"We interrupt this radio broadcast to announce…Pearl Harbor Base in Hawaii has been bombed by the Japanese Navy-"

Myrtle slid her arms around him again, holding onto him tightly. "Oh no! Damned Japs."

"Shhhh, hey Sweetheart. They're called 'Japanese' and I want to hear this."

* * *

"Damned Japs! Why don't you go home to your own country and pick on somebody else?!"

Spock shook his head as the insults were hurtled. He'd stepped onto the bus, preparing to head home that evening. An angry crowd on board insisted he alight immediately. "You are mistaken. I am not Japanese," he had tried to inform them.

"Off!" they said. The driver did nothing to assist him and he went.

Instead he walked the entire distance back to the Sovereign Apartments, through the eerie, dark, foggy streets. He narrowly avoided being hit by passing cars on two separate occasions, their headlamps dimmed, as he was forced to concentrate on sidestepping rocks, stones, bottles and rotten fruit or vegetables thrown from windows into his path or directly at him.

He had almost made it to the front door of the apartment building when a carefully aimed rock made contact with his eye.

* * *

"I brought you some saltine crackers and ginger ale." Spock handed over the metal container and glass bottle.

"Thanks."

He pulled off his thick black peacoat and hat, noting the curious sound of music in the immediate vicinity. Not the neighbor, but right here inside the apartment. The lights were out in the but for a solitary candle barely illuminating the room. He reached for the light switch.

"Don't turn that on. We can get fined."

Spock dropped his hand.

"'Floyd's Guitar Blues'," McCoy said without prompting, supplying the name of the song. "I know, it's no: 'Credence' but it will have to do. Myrtle thought it was terrible we were going without a phonograph," he explained. "That's a mechanism that plays those acetate disks stacked there."

"I have seen these artifacts in a museum."

"This thing has a radio, too. Comes in handy. Been listening to some news broadcasts."

Spock watched the rotating disk for a few moments, tilting his head to intently listen to the hiss and pop along with the tune. Odd, even with the background noise, the music sounded better, much richer or fuller than a Twenty-third century musical recording.

He studied the stack of black disks next to the phonograph, selected the top one. He took it out of it's paper sleeve and read the print in the inner circle: 'American Recording Artists. Hoagy Carmichael. 'Stardust'. 78rpm'. The disk proved to be of a considerable heft, about 100 grams and approximately 25.50 centimeters in diameter. He held it up in one hand, almost entranced as he traced the tiny groves with a finger. "Fascinating."

McCoy came up behind him, looking over his shoulder. "These are all Myrtle and Carolyn's. 'Stardust', well..." McCoy cleared his throat. "Myrtle claims that is: 'our song'." He shook his head.

'Floyd's Guitar Blues' had finished and was now running in it's internal quiet area, a runnout groove. McCoy expertly lifted the arm with the needle up and off the 78 disk. He pulled the appendage over to it's resting place and shut off the switch.

"Your song?" Spock asked.

"Yeah, I know. Those silly Human courting rituals." McCoy reached out towards the record. "Be careful with that. It's not easy to scratch acetates with that needle, but they shatter when you drop 'em. I already made that mistake once."

Spock picked up the paper sleeve and carefully replaced 'Stardust'. "Duly noted." He placed it down gently onto the stack.

"Wash your hands after handling them. They're comprised of a shellac acetate, a material you don't want getting in your mouth."

"Of course, Doctor." He went to do the man's bidding and his attention was diverted by the kitchen windows which were fixed with some type of black paper. "What is the purpose of this material?"

McCoy placed Spock's dinner on the table and motioned for the first officer to hurry up and sit. "It's black out paper. Long Beach is in 'black-out' tonight. Don't get any ideas that I actually planned a romantic candlelight supper for you. The landlord came by everybody's apartment. Handed this stuff out."

"The lights are off all over the city."

"Are you aware of what happened this morning?"

"The bombing of Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. We heard the news at work."

Spock handed McCoy the copy of the 'Independent Extra edition'. The man got closer to the candlelight and read the front page:

'1500 Dead In Hawaii. Battleship Lost in Early Morning Attack'

"It's one thing to read about WWII history, another to actually live through it," McCoy said.

"The US has declared war on Japan."

McCoy nodded. "That's right."

"It is to our benefit that this has occurred."

"I suppose so. History hasn't changed yet with us being here. But excuse me if I'm not jumping for joy."

Spock nodded and quietly spooned his vegetables onto his own plate, proceeding to put some onto McCoy's.

"No thanks. I'm a little nauseous today." McCoy poured himself a glass of ginger ale and munched on a cracker. "What the hell happened to your eye?"

Spock touched the bloody cut from the deftly aimed rock. "Nothing."

* * *

McCoy had turned down Cedar, laundry bag in hand and had just reached Pike Lane when a gang of adolescent boys threw a huge rock into the window of Sulu's Laundry.

The window shattered.

The boys laughed, then ran off.

"Jesus!" McCoy beelined it for the laundry, opened the door and went inside. "Is everyone alright in here?"

The 'Mama' shook her head. She indicated behind her.

McCoy went behind the counter, found the young boy, injured but oddly quiet and bleeding profusely from a deep gash on the forehead.

McCoy knelt down, pressed his hand on the cut. "Tell your Grandmother, I need a clean towel."

The boy translated and quickly a cloth was laid into his hand.

McCoy held the cloth to the cut, then lifting it up, briefly triaging the damage. "Tell Grandmother, you need stitches. You need to get to a hospital."

The boy translated again.

Mama shook her head.

"Grandmother says 'no'. The hospital is very expensive."

McCoy pressed the towel again to the wound, looked up to see more family members crowding around along with possibly the kids mother and father. "It's alright, I'm a doctor." He looked back down at the kid. "What's your name, Son?"

"Hikaru."

McCoy had to smile at that. "Hikaru? I have a friend named Hikaru."

McCoy cursed the fact that he didn't have a communicator, 23rd century medical equipment, or any medical equipment on him for that matter. "Hikaru, tell grandmother to lemme take you to the hospital. I'll pay for it."

Mama regarded him suspiciously and shook her head, 'No'.

"Please!" he said, looking at the grandmother.

She relented. Hikaru said: "Grandmother says, 'Alright'."

* * *

McCoy had affixed a fresh towel with some heavy tape to Hikaru's head, then took him by the hand. They boarded the bus to St. Mary's hospital. After an hour in the waiting room, where McCoy paced back and forth and complained to the nursing sister: "This kid is bleeding from the forehead and you're taking your sweet time getting to him!"

The "sister glanced at the boy, then looked at McCoy, coldly. Please be seated, Sir."

"How much longer?"

"There is about a three hour wait today."

"Dammit." He went back to the kid and took his hand. "Come on, Hikaru, I'll treat you at my home."

The kid said nothing, but went with him.

At the apartment, McCoy still had some suture thread and the needle. He sat the kid down on the kitchen chair as he sterilized it once again. He iced the wound, and swabbed it with some rubbing alcohol. "This is gonna hurt, but I'll be quick about it. You're gonna have to lay down on the bed for me."

The kid nodded, went over and lay down. "You have a rabbit?" he asked.

"Uh huh," McCoy said as he threaded the needle.

"What's its name?"

"She doesn't have a name."

"Aiko," the boy said. "You should call her that."

McCoy broke the skin with the needle, made the first stitch, which in his experience (when he didn't have proper equipment and had to resort to this) always hurt the worst. The boy didn't even flinch. "Pretty name. Means 'Beloved', doesn't it? Aiko, it is."

"What does she like to eat?" the boy asked. McCoy made another stitch.

"Carrots, celery, lettuce."

The boy giggled and McCoy made another stitch.

"Do you have any pets, Hikaru?"

"No," Hikaru replied. McCoy made a few more quick stitches.

"My goodness, kid, you are the most stoic person ever to have had stitches. Some of my patients are the biggest babies, you'd put them to shame. I've only known one other person to behave so strong like you." He tied up the stitches in a knot and cut of the ends. "All done. You can get up now."

Hikaru did so. "May I pet your rabbit?"

"Of course you may." McCoy washed his hands then opened up the cage. "Want to give her a carrot?" McCoy handed him one and Hikaru fed it her, laughing. The rabbit's nose quivered as she nibbled on it. "What about you? You hungry?"

Hikaru nodded.

"I need to fix dinner anyway, so you're our guest this evening. My roommate should be coming home any minute."

The front door opened.

"Speak of the devil," McCoy said.

Spock stood in the kitchen staring at the boy.

"Spock, this is Hikaru Sulu."

Spock raised an eyebrow and bowed to the boy. "Hello."

The kid laughed again as the rabbit chewed on more carrot.

"You can keep her, if you want her," McCoy offered.

After supper, Spock and McCoy escorted Hikaru and the rabbit back to the laundry where the grandmother was waiting for them.

"Hontou ni, arigatou gozaimasu!" she said. She reached over. McCoy leaned down as she kissed him on the cheek. [ Thank you!]

"You're welcome, Mama." McCoy reached over and brushed the kid's hair with his hand. "Hikaru, I'll be back in a few days, to check on you. Just leave the stitches alone. It'll heal up, then then they can be removed. Sayronara."

"Bye," the boy said.

* * *

_he knows they are behind him, even if they do not ever make a sound._

_he spins around to see five, clad in white. wearing what appears to be white fencing masks._

_always head to toe, white._

_he drops to his knees, laying a protective hand on the still unconscious McCoy._

_a loud scream in the vicinity, distracts them. They scurry towards the sudden noise. scurry, like earth cockroaches._

_it is a long enough diversion for him to scoop up McCoy and make a run for it._

_the figures, notice, are at his heels._

_he cannot not evade them much longer. he is weakening. mccoy grows heavier in his arms with each passing moment._

* * *

"Doctor, why must we attend this function?"

McCoy glared at him a moment from the mirror. A towel barely covered his now thickening mid section. It threatened to come apart, pool at his feet and leave him naked. "Tonight's Christmas Eve, Spock. Myrtle and Carolyn and their friends are going to be there. They've only asked me five times this week if we were going."

"Vulcans do not celebrate Christmas."

"Jesus Christ, nobody asked you to. It's just a goddamned party, alright? A social occasion. Just like we have on board the Enterprise."

"I do not attend shipboard celebrations, either."

"Well, it would be nice if you showed up to this one. I'm sick of cooking tonight. This little shindig is gonna be catered-I'm sure we both can find something decent to eat-and is located right downstairs in the goddamned lobby of this building next to the gigantic real pine christmas tree. The scent of that thing reminds me of Georgia every time I walk past it. Not like we have far to go, for crying out loud."

"Then, Doctor, perhaps you should attend with Myrtle and Carolyn and enjoy yourself, as you intend on doing. I am perfectly capable of staying home alone."

"Boy, somebody's in a goddamned snit."

"I am not."

"Well, if I was really going to enjoy myself, Mr. Spock," McCoy said, tightly. "I'd help myself to a few too many glasses of brandy, eat all kinds of junk food and dance with all the young ladies to their crazy ass music, culminating on spending the night in somebody's bed other than yours."

"Really."

"Yep. If I wasn't knocked up, that is."

Spock sighed and folded his arms.

"You goin' dressed like that?" McCoy asked.

"What is wrong with my attire?"

"Thought maybe it could be a little more festive."

"Doctor," Spock warned.

"And your hair's a little long. Never seen it like that before. Your bangs are starting to fall into your eyes."

Spock ran a hand through it. Since he usually wore his beanie when outside or in company besides the doctor, he had forgotten about its length. "My hair does not grow as fast as a Human."

"It's growing fast enough. Want me to cut it?"

"Negative. That is unnecessary."

"What are you afraid of, that I'll chop off your precious pointy ears? Come on, I'll give you a haircut. Nobody else can, can they."

"I do not require you to-"

"I can clean it up for you, at least. Don't worry, I won't give you a mohawk."

"I do not know what that is."

"Late twentieth century invention."

"You wish to check my hair for any additional head lice."

"Bingo," McCoy said, smiling.

"One might have told one that in the first place."

* * *

The next night, on Christmas, they found themselves introduced to a bone chilling, horrifically loud wail, rising and falling in the key of D.

"That sound..." Spock began.

"It's an air raid siren. Oh God. Scares the living shit out of me. That's worse than an Enterprise Red Alert."

_the siren...he's in a corridor, running...it's so cold...as he's nude, he's shivering...but he's gotta keep going... the siren...they're looking for him..._

Due to Spock's reaction: slowly tilting his head up, his dark eyes widening, jaw tightening, a small gulp in the throat, McCoy could tell the Vulcan was unnerved by it as well.

"Makes the skin crawl, doesn't it?"

He jumped at the loud knock at the door. It was the landlord. "Everyone goes down into the basement during an air raid siren. Safety first. Merry Christmas."

They reluctantly trudged down the now darkened stairs with the other apartment dwellers.

They were all herded into a large bricked room in the basement. A solitary incandesent light hung overhead, casting ominous shadows onto the wall. A door slammed shut behind them. The basement, and building overhead vibrated with the ack, ack, boom, boom of anti-aircraft fire.

_the door slams..._

_he's in a cellar type room, feels underground, white brick, he's hanging from the ceiling by the wrists. he's nude, shaking...god it's so cold, he's already bloodied from the abduction. he feels his life dripping away with every drop onto the floor, drip, drip, drip..._

_he feels the electric current coursing through his body... not enough to kill, but enough to cause excruciating pain._

_he screams-_

"Doctor." There's a hand on his shoulder, shaking him. "Dr. McCoy."

He found himself still muttering incoherently and moaning. "Get me out of here."

Spock went to the door, dragging McCoy, found it locked. McCoy's moans morphed into screaming. He was barely aware of Spock knocking on the door, finding no response, then kicking a hole into the wood. He then reached around and unlocked it.

On the other side of the broken door stood an old rickety desk with gas masks haphazardly piled up on top. At the sight, McCoy's breathing increased tenfold.

He felt a pinch at the junction of his neck and shoulder. He passed out.

* * *

Spock sat at McCoy's bedside until the man awoke an hour later.

"What happened?"

"You do not like the basement," Spock said, wryly.

"Told you so."

"I am liable for the damage I caused."

"What damage?"

"To the basement door."

"They shouldn't have been locking everybody in, anyhow."

"Indeed. The action seems rather sinister, however they believe it is for our safety."

There was a new earsplitting siren, this time an extended shriek for long minutes rather than an intermittant wail.

"That's the all clear signal," McCoy said. "Goddamn, that's creepier then the warning itself."

* * *

On to the next part...


	4. January

**JANUARY  
**

**Furious Battle as MacArthur Pulls a Tactical Surprise on Japan Invaders**

**Washington. Jan 1. The War Department reported tonight that the American Flag still flies over Manilla, where American and Filipino troops are fighting a furious defensive battle against the attacking Japanese. The communique said that General MacArthur succeeded in consolidating the positions of the defenders to strengthen their lines.**

* * *

"Five, four, three, two, One! Happy New Year!"

"Leonard, even with the war going on, it's going to be a swell year, 1942, I can feel it. Don't you?" Myrtle asked.

"Yeah..." McCoy replied. "Great."

* * *

After the bombing of Pearl Harbor and the Christmas Day attacks on the California coastline, the town of Long Beach now completely shifted into wartime.

The first notable change instituted was the issuing of Ration Cards. Most food staples such as sugar, eggs, steak, bacon, bread, milk and butter were announced by radio and newsreels as items to be rationed. Some clothing items such as anything containing nylon or cotton or rubber would also be subject. Clothing hemlines would be shorter to conserve fabric. Gasoline for automobiles would also be rationed—while Spock and McCoy did not own an automobile it had the direct effect of making bus transportation much more expensive. Items such as fruits and vegetables would also be rationed. To offset this, McCoy, as many others did, began cultivating what was known as a 'Victory Garden'. The suggestions in every newspaper, tips on growing ones own vegetables in coffee cans and other tins. Many victory gardens decorated many a fire escape or window in town.

Many evenings they came home from their respective jobs in complete darkness. Blackout monitors stood guard. Cars and busses were ordered to use only their running lights.

An eerie hush fell across the town on those darkened nights.

McCoy—as directed by instructions via radio or the 'Independent'-dutably signed the both of them up for their ration cards at the downtown library. The cards would then be sent to them in the mail and they were supposed to guard them with their lives.

* * *

The ration cards arrived a week later. McCoy heard Myrtle and Carolyn at his door, complaining bitterly that according to the stamps issued they could only buy one pair of nylon stockings a month. The stockings would ladder up as soon as they donned them, of course.

"You girls…with all the awful things going on in the world, people are dying every day and you're worried about silly nylon stockings," McCoy admonished them.

"Yes, silly nylon stockings are important to us." Carolyn stuck out her tongue at him.

"You enjoy looking at my gams, donchya?" Myrtle said.

He regarded both fuming ladies and sighed. "I don't wear nylons. Here. Take mine and Spock's stamps."

They leapt on him and covered him in kisses, Carolyn included.

"Yeah…yeah…yeah…"

* * *

_'...but mother gibbs, one can go back...one can go back there again...into living...i can feel it. i know it. why just then for a moment i was thinking about...about the farm...and for a minute i was there, and my baby was on my lap as plain as day...'_

* * *

Spock came home from work one evening during another black-out to find McCoy collapsed on the floor in the doorway between the kitchen and the living area, cradling his abdomen. "Doctor?" Spock rushed over, kneeling down next to him. "Are you feeling discomfort?"

"Worse." McCoy squinted his eyes shut. "Terrible pain."

"What sort of pain? Describe it."

"Like...something is twisting inside of me," the doctor gritted out and winced again. "Sharp. Oh, God it hurts."

"How long has this been occurring?"

"Intermittently. Since we arrived here."

"This has been occurring since we arrived and this is the first occasion that you have alerted me?"

"I thought it was normal." McCoy winced again. "Wasn't this bad before today. And I can't feel the fetus move. I should be able to by now."

"You should?"

"I'm now in the second trimester. A flutter, as they say. There's nothing but pain. Something has to be wrong. It feels like something's wrong."

"Have you been monitoring your vitals?"

"Yeah, they're normal, under the circumstances."

"What about the baby's heartbeat? Is it audible? You said you could hear it via the stethoscope."

"Can't hear anything, at all. Nothing."

Spock sighed then sat back on his haunches as he clumsily, verbally attempted to console the teary eyed man. It was very odd to see McCoy cry, he'd daresay this was the first occasion he'd ever witnessed such a sight. "I am... unfamiliar with pregnancy but I am sure... everything is progressing as it should."

"How the hell do you know?! Huh? You goddamned unfeeling…inhuman…son of a bitch! How are we gonna know if anything is wrong? The baby could be dying inside me and we don't know… not until it's too late!" McCoy, now hysterical, sobbed uncontrollably. "I shouldn't have…shouldn't have gotten a job…like you said…or enjoying myself with the girls. Dancing?! Treating this being trapped here on Earth like some extended shore leave! What the hell was I thinking? I messed everything up. I killed it and it's all my fault, Spock. I was in absolute denial. I did this to it!" he screamed out.

"This is not entirely your fault. Your anatomy is ill equipped to handle—"

"Don't you think I know that?!"

Uncertain of what he should do, Spock found himself watching helplessly as the man sobbed himself into a stupor.

The black-out candle suddenly extinguished.

"Shit," McCoy said.

"Where are the matches?" Spock whispered.

"Kitchen."

"Stay right here." He felt around for them, the kitchen table, the counter, finally locating them. He went to the candle, lighting it again and the room was again cast in the eerie shadows. Spock sat back down on the floor next to the man.

"Allow me to touch your abdomen," he suggested.

"Why?" McCoy rasped out.

"At this point in your pregnancy, I may be able to feel the biorhythms of the child and find the source of the pain."

"That... easy...huh?"

"No, but I am willing to make an attempt."

After a moment, McCoy nodded and obligingly pulled up his shirt and undershirt. His abdomen was even more swelled under all the clothing, in direct contrast to the man's usually thin physique. He sniffled, had a desperate look on his face.

Spock placed his hands on McCoy's belly, sensing, reaching out mentally. The child-child!- did seem in some sort of distress, probably due to McCoy's heightened emotional state. However, it began to relax as soon as Spock made mental contact.

After a few moments, Spock pulled his hands away. "You have a child inside you."

McCoy smirked. "Seems a bit more real now, huh?"

Spock nodded. "You do need to calm yourself down."

McCoy turned to him sharply. "Well? Is it...doing alright, healthy?"

"I sense that it is indeed healthy."

"Can you tell the sex? Anything else?"

"I am afraid not."

"The pain…." McCoy stopped, looking down, a look of pure amazement on his face. "The pain is gone. What did you do?"

"Nothing. I simply felt for it's consciousness."

There was a long while of staring into nothingness before a huge smile finally erupted on the doctors face and he declared: "I have to pee."

Spock rose up to stand, helping McCoy up with him. He handed the man the candle and McCoy dove to the bathroom.

Spock removed his coat and hanging it up carefully in the closet. As he shut the door, he heard a shriek of laughter emanating from the bathroom. "What is it, now, Doctor?"

"It's moving…it's fluttering." McCoy yelled back. "Spock!"

"Are you certain?"

McCoy exited the bathroom in an aura of new excitement, Spock took the candle away him so he would not burn down the entire building. "I've never felt anything like this before. It's...crazy. I can't believe there's something inside of me."

"A parasite," Spock said, not unkindly, solely in an attempt to be humorous. Thankfully the doctor merely giggled.

"Yes, Mr. Spock. A fetus is indeed a parasite, you are correct, but it's my little parasite." He pulled out the stethoscope from the nearby black bag. "Lets try this again. I want to hear it." He slipped the ear pads on his ears, put the disk on his abdomen. He moved it around. "Have to make sure I'm not trying to listen against the placenta...maybe that was the problem bef..." He gasped.

"Anything?"

"I hear it! That's it! I hear it." McCoy grinned wildly and listened for a few moments. "The heart!" Wonder and delight lit up his tired features. "You want to hear the baby's heartbeat, Spock?"

Spock shook his head. "Negative."

"Oh."

* * *

McCoy's energy level appeared to perk up in the second trimester. He stopped exhibiting the nausea that had plagued him in the early days. The doctor also appeared to develop a certain internal satisfaction, or happiness. The man could be found laughing and smiling a great deal, quite a change from the grouchy, argumentative or dour shipboard demeanor. Perhaps it was due to the absence of the constant stressors aboard the Enterprise.

Then again, the doctor would cry at the most trivial things. A sad radio program, for instance.

"I'm not usually so emotional," McCoy tried to explain. "It's these goddamned hormones."

Spock disagreed, the doctor could become quite emotional at times, especially during their frequent arguments on board the Enterprise, however it was this extreme behavior-weeping-that he had never witnessed before.

Sometimes McCoy would be convulsed in unexplainable pain. However, as soon as Spock laid a hand on the man's abdomen, the pain would subside. The pains themselves eventually abated a month later.

Spock now felt sure that they were on Earth in the year 1942. The coincidences in history and other historically accurate details seemed much too perfect for their surroundings to be a fabrication.

And their time here it indeed felt much like an extended shore leave were it not for the dire circumstances.

The war waged, but mostly in Japan and Germany. The citizens of Long Beach, even during a war, still had to go on about their daily lives. Working, living and most of all, partaking even more in local entertainments.

The doctor had developed odd food cravings and Spock did his best to indulge him, escorting him over to 'Woolworth's' for Vanilla milkshakes or bringing one home, setting it in the icebox for McCoy to consume when he returned from work.

They went out on 'dates' with Myrtle and Carolyn regularly when they could manage a mutual night off. Spock could not explain McCoy's desire to entertain them so frequently, other than the fact that the girls were simply a diversion.

They four of them often went to the Pike. The area proved convenient— right in the vicinity of their apartment building— and free of charge to simply walk around the amusements.

On occasion they went on the mild rides such as the 'Tunnel of Love'. The girls requested that one rather regularly for some reason. Myrtle would grab McCoy's hand, squealing in the darkness. Spock would scoff at her behavior, to himself, until he felt Carolyn's hand creeping towards his. He invariably would pull it away, the intense sensation from touching her fingertips, unwelcome and uncomfortable.

The four often strolled down the midway, people watching. They ate ten cent burgers (or rather the girls did) with five cent 'french fries' and ketchup at Scotty's Burgers. They bought Salt Water Taffy at Magruder's Taffy stand. The girls considered it just another treat but in reality it was to satisfy another of McCoy's cravings.

McCoy now incessantly wore a grey fedora hat Myrtle had gifted him with for Christmas. When he had tried it on for the first time, combined with the glasses he always wore, Myrtle had proclaimed: "Leonard is the handsomest doctor in the world." Spock had rolled his eyes at that. He was, however, extremely appreciative of the scarf Carolyn had given him, it kept him nice and warm in the winter months as she had promised it would. And McCoy did appear well suited to the hat and eyeglasses.

In the daytime The Pike was filled with families, with appropriate novelties, however at night the atmosphere changed dramatically to a decidedly adult crowd, becoming quite seedy. Misbehaving, fighting, drunk servicemen and prostitutes abounded amongst the young adults in route to the many cinemas or ballrooms.

One one occasion they had stood before the 'guessing man'. The Guessing Man stood at his stall on the midway, waiting to guess how long somebody was 'going steady' (whatever that meant), someone's age, or how long a couple had been married, or other such like. If the man was wrong you won a stuffed efffigy in the shape of an animal such an elephant or a teddy bear.

"That'll be an easy prize," McCoy had remarked to the girls. "There's nothing to guess." He threw the man a quarter. "Alright guessing man, what've you got?"

"Looks like congratulations are in order!" the guessing man happily informed them.

"Congratulations?" Myrtle asked. "For what?"

"The new arrival!"

McCoy chuckled nervously: "Come on, lets move along!"

"What did he mean by 'congratulations'? I wanted an elephant!"

"Never mind…come on. I'll win you an elephant someplace else."

* * *

The four stood watching the screaming patrons on the looming wooden roller coaster. The centerpiece of The Pike.

"Let's go on the 'Cyclone Racer'!" Myrtle suggested.

"No," McCoy balked. "No way. Thing looks unsafe."

Myrtle pouted. "How about a movie, then?"

"Best idea ever," McCoy replied. "What are we watching?"

"The Wizard of Oz!" Myrtle and Carolyn said in unison.

"Oh…God," McCoy said, giving out a mock groan and glancing over at Spock. Spock looked away.

At the 'Roxy Cinema' located right next door to the Majestic Ballroom, the newsreel broadcasted the stark images of the war.

Next on screen: An animated short film featuring a ridiculous, wise talking rabbit called "Bugs Bunny" then on to the feature, "The Wizard of Oz".

However, Spock and Carolyn appeared to be the only two in the crowd who were actually watching the feature. McCoy and Myrtle kissed the entire time and obviously other patrons in the cinema had that same perverse idea.

Spock glanced over at the McCoy and Myrtle, then at Carolyn munching determinedly on her popcorn, then went back to viewing the film.

"You're getting fat," Myrtle whispered into McCoy's ear, during 'Somewhere Over The Rainbow'.

"Good," he whispered back. "Hey Spock? Where's Pink Floyd when you need 'em?"

Spock sighed.

"Who's 'Pink Floyd'? Is that a friend of yours?" Myrtle asked McCoy.

"Don't worry about it, Sweetheart." They resumed kissing.

"Hey, this is the part where the munchkin commits suicide," Carolyn said, elbowing Myrtle.

"So?"

"Now, what kind of attitude is that, Sweetheart?" McCoy whispered. "Where?"

"Watch! Look!"

"That is a bird," Spock replied. "Not a man."

"Hey up there," somebody behind them hissed. "Shut up!"

"My apologies," Spock called back.

Myrtle and McCoy went back to kissing.

After they had seen the girls back home and were making their way down the hall to their own abode, Spock deemed it necessary to voice a complaint: "Is the constant public display of affection really necessary?"

"Yes," McCoy replied, simply.

"Why is that?" Spock put his key in the door, opening it and letting them inside, allowing the doctor through first then shutting it behind them.

"Because lately I crave being held. Is that too much to ask? Blame it on these crazy hormones. Obviously I can't get physical affection from you, now can I?"

"What if Myrtle queries your appearance? She is quite tactile with your person."

McCoy broke out into a deep chuckle for some unknown reason. He disrobed to his underwear. The man appeared quite obviously in the fifth month of pregnancy. Under Spock's gaze, the doctor ran a protective hand along the skin. "I'm taking a bath. Keep me company in there?"

"As you wish." This had become almost a nightly ritual of theirs: McCoy relaxing in a warm bath with Spock sitting in a chair next to him, reading aloud from the newspaper. It had started as sort of a protection for McCoy against slipping and falling as that had happened the first time he'd bathed in this tub.

"Kid's kicking up a storm." McCoy told him.

"Then I am assuming the child continues to grow and prosper."

"Why not lay your hands on my belly and find out?"

"I am a Vulcan, not a tri-corder."

"I know that." McCoy glared at him. "I was merely wondering if you could use your Vulcan voodoo to tell me more about the kid, if it really is okay. And you're not at all funny."

"I was not attempting to be."

"Speaking of tri-corders. I wish I had one or even my type II medical scanner."

"Indeed, one would be most beneficial. If we could get it to operate."

"Oh yes, there's that."

"I had been able to make a tri-corder operational in 1930. It took me two weeks of working non-stop. However, I had the luxury of possessing the device itself."

"Is that how you and Jim were able to locate and rescue me...in 1930?"

"Essentially."

McCoy looked at him. "Could we...could we build one? Or a reasonable facsimile or anything? It would only need to operate once, that's all. And no goddamned radiation, of course."

"I cannot build a tri-corder from scratch in this era."

McCoy nodded. "I know. Wishful thinking. They don't even have the transistor yet," he spat out. "It'd be a whole room-and here back home we have computers the size of my thumbnail that they can't even fathom-" McCoy gulped. "At any rate, this kid of mine needs a name. It took me and Joss the entire nine months to think up a name for Joanna."

"You already have a child?"

"I never told you?"

"Negative."

"Well. Mr. Spock, guess what? I have a thirty year old daughter. She was born while I was in med-school. When I was nineteen. The kid's mother and I had to get married. Too goddamned young."

"You had to get married? The marriage was arranged?"

"No, no, I mean-I didn't have to, many folks don't-but, I grew up old fashioned. Jocelyn got pregnant and marrying her was the right thing to…." McCoy motioned in the air, flicking water onto the linoleum. "They used to call it a 'shotgun wedding' in the old South."

"Shotgun wedding?"

"Yeah. Jocelyn's dad held a shotgun to my head and said 'you knocked her up and now you'll marry this girl' or else."

Spock found himself betraying unrestrained surprise at that.

"Spock, I'm only kidding. In all seriousness, I did the right thing by taking responsibility for what happened but unfortunately I was never around to be a father. Never around to be a proper husband."

"Forgive me, Doctor, I was not aware you are married."

"I'm divorced. We split when I was twenty three. I haven't seen my daughter since she was a little girl. My fault. Now you know."

"I see."

McCoy glanced away for a few moments, then down at his expanding midsection. "I wonder who the father of this little kid is," McCoy suddenly said, his hand stroking his abdomen in a caress. "Or rather it's other father."

"You are the mother," Spock declared. "Whoever carries the fetus is the mother."

McCoy grimaced. "No. In plenty of species, the male carries the young. He's still the dad." He shook his head and snorted. "I can't wait to see the look on Jim's face when he sees me. I wonder what this kid's gonna look like. Humanoid, I hope."

"I do not know," Spock said quietly.

McCoy suddenly gasped and brought both hands to his face. "Oh my God. I remember. Our captors. I never saw what they truly looked like. Their faces..."

"Covered by masks. To avoid identification."

"How do you know they're masks?"

"I am...assuming."

"But you don't know! I could be carrying a monster inside me."

"Half monster, half human. No different to your description of me."

McCoy scowled, then softened. "I never refer to you as a monster."

"You have claimed on several occasions that I am 'inhuman'."

McCoy cleared his throat. "I mean that as...a term of endearment. I'll still gonna love this kid, no matter what it looks like or whose spawn it came from. I hope it's not my sperm they used. And whoever the sperm donor is, I hope the poor guy wasn't tortured to within an inch of his life for his DNA."

"Indeed."

"Gas masks," McCoy said. "They were wearing white gas masks. Why? Can't they breathe oxygen?"

"More precisely the captor's attire resembled fencing masks. White fencing masks."

"Fencing masks? Oh...I thought they were...no...they were definately gas masks."

McCoy grew sullen and Spock again diverted the subject: "Have you thought about what you are going to do, with a child in Starfleet?"

"I have. I need to have a long talk with Jim. Discuss what my options are. I'd like to continue to serve in a reduced capacity at least…but it does depend on the captain."

"Correct."

"I'd still feel better if we could take a look at this kid. Gather some telemetry."

"Even if I was able to create a device, the necessary materials to build such an item are severely rationed at this point in time. I have already investigated that possibility."

McCoy reached out and patted Spock's leg. "I know. I know you did."

Drops of water from McCoy's hand and wrist landed on Spock. He jerked back as if stung.

"What is it with you being so afraid of water?"

"I am not afraid of water, Doctor."

"Then why are you so skittish around the bath tub? Of getting wet. Christ you're like a cat. It's only water."

"I am not skittish."

"You've never even taken a bath since we've been here, have you. The tub's always dry when you get out of the bathroom. How do you bathe? In the sink?"

Spock stood up. "Dr. McCoy, your obsession with my personal bathing habits is, quite frankly, unnerving. Please respect my privacy."

"Privacy? There's no goddamned privacy between us. Not anymore. Not here."

"Are you quite finished with your ablutions?"

"Yeah...finished. I'll manage to get myself out of the tub, if it bothers you that much."

"I do not mind rendering you assistance. I merely ask that you refrain from raining water droplets on me."

"Fine."

* * *

_the door to cubicle one slides open with a squeak._

_a wave of cold, irrational prickling fear moves through him. he cannot resist the feeling. it is time._

_a figure stands over him. clad entirely in white. white fencing mask. the fencing mask is folded in the center... making it appear more theatrical, macabre. there's an odd emblem on the right side of the robe. two identical overlapping isosceles triangles._

_the figure, deathly still, seems to be simply observing him._

_he swallows hard. his throat feels as arid as the desert in which he was born. his tongue lashes out, running along his bottom lip. "who... are you... and why are you doing this to us?"_

_silence. a white gloved hand ventures over. it suddenly makes contact with his penis. closes around it. cold. pressure. he gasps. the hand begins to stroke. up and down. up and down._

_as tightly bound as he finds himself, there's nothing he can do to stop this. this sexual assault. "if you are attempting to goad me into tumescence, I suggest you cease. i am a Vulcan. i can control my responses to such stimulation."_

_the figure says not a thing... but he realizes he has been foolhardy in giving out any personal information._

_the figure picks up a hypodermic resting nearby on a silver tray. he eyes the needle. there is a sharp prick as it is slammed into his neck._

_the figure waits a moment, then resumes the assault on his sexual organ._

_he feels horror. shame. fear. whatever drug he has just been given has now rendered him completely unable to block the intense, excruciating, pleasurable sensations._

_his penis throbs, reaching full aching hardness. 'no…'_

_a device is strapped to to the glans. he is uncertain as to why they would do this, until the figure engages the device._

_his hands ball into fists. he bites the inside of his cheek to stifle any sounds as he goes through the process of orgasm and ejaculation, repeatedly._

_blood trickles from his mouth to his chin-he's bitten his lip-it drips green onto the white medical gown._

_with a satisfied air the figure removes the device and the semen sample from him, vacating the room without a sound—_

"Spock, Spock." He felt a cool hand shaking him. "You're having a nightmare."

"Impossible," Spock croaked.

The small lamp next to the bed flipped on. McCoy squinted as he looked over. "That you were dreaming? You were...ohh," McCoy groaned as he attempted to shift position. "You were crying out. Talking in your sleep."

Spock sat up. "Vulcan's do not dream."

McCoy jerked his head up at the curt tone. "It's alright, Spock. Everyone has nightmares. Surely even Vulcans."

"Preposterous." He got out of bed, glanced down at the spreading wetness in his sleep attire. Before the doctor could don his glasses and witness it, he hurried to the bathroom.

"What is it, Spock?" McCoy's voice called through the closed door.

"Go back to sleep, Dr. McCoy."

"Goddammit! It's cold in this bed without you in it!"

Spock did not reply. He shucked off his night clothing, collecting it all together on the floor. He stood at the sink completely nude, staring down at himself with disgust. As he was...covered in his own...semen, he needed a bath. Not a wash in the sink, a proper bath.

He turned and stared at the tub. Then turned back around to the sink.

He sighed.

As McCoy had said, it was only water. He'd never been afflicted with this aversion before. Why now?

He reached down and turned on the bathtub's water tap. He dove a hand underneath the stream and adjusted the temperature. He swallowed, walked over, fetched his towel and laid it on the chair next to the tub. As soon as it was filled up to a high enough level, he shut off the flow.

He closed his eyes. Found himself shaking.

"Stop," he whispered to himself. He placed a hand to his own temple. "Stop."

After a few moments he was able to relax enough to dip a toe in.

Encouraged by that, he clambered in, sitting down in the tub.

_water...water...water...so much water...raining down upon him, engulfing him, choking him, he cannot breathe...he cannot breathe... why does it not stop...why does it not stop, stop, stop, stop, stop..._

"Spock?" Suddenly McCoy was inside the bathroom-Spock had not heard him enter-nor seen him as his back was turned, why had he not locked the door? "Spock?" By the now much too close proximity of the voice, the doctor was standing over him.

"Doctor, please leave. Go back to bed."

"What's the matter, Spock, I heard you cry out: 'stop!'."

"Impossible... I did no such thing."

Instead of vacating the bathroom as had been requested of him, McCoy sat down on the chair. Spock felt a cool hand land on his shoulder, then move down across his back, in almost a caress. "Jesus, you're shaking..." The hand remained where it was and was joined by the other. The doctor's deep concern bled through the contact.

After several moments, Spock found his breathing returning to normal. "Doctor, please allow me some privacy. Go back to bed. It is 3 am."

"Not until you calm down. Breathe deeply."

He breathed.

McCoy's hands began to expertly massage his shoulders. Spock dipped his head down, resigning himself to the contact. Perhaps it felt pleasurable and relaxed him even more.

"Spock?"

"Yes?"

"What did they do to you?"

He would rather not discuss what the captors had done to him at this point in time. "Nothing."

"They tortured you, didn't they." McCoy's voice sounded pained.

He hesitated for long moments-grateful that his back was turned and he did not have to look McCoy in the eye. He admitted, tightly. "Yes."

* * *

_the man is lying on the bed. completely nude. waiting._

_'spock?'_

_his hand reaches out, tenderly brushes the man's hair. 'you are as beautiful as a T'Khasi sunset, do you know that?'_

_leonard smiles._

* * *

McCoy began to clear up the dinner dishes, yawning intermittently, when Spock halted him by taking the plate from his hands. "You are exhausted."

"It is nine thirty," McCoy agreed.

"Go lie down." Spock resumed the task of clearing up, shortly becoming engaged in precisely washing each and every utilized dish, piece of silverware, pots and pans.

"Care if I turn on the radio? Want to drown out 'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy' from next door, that bastard."

"You do not like the song?"

"Not when it's played over and over and over again! Maybe I should lend him some records? That seems to be the only one he owns. I'm turning on the radio, you mind?"

"I do not mind. This your apartment as much as mine."

"I'm only trying to be polite. What'd you think of the casserole I fixed you?"

"It proved adequate."

McCoy began fiddling with the knob, rolling over various broadcasts, music or words mixing with static. "You're never going to admit that I am a fantastic cook."

"You should be more concerned about your own nutrition and needs."

"You're right. I want a vanilla malt. Stat."

"Now?"

"I'm dying for one, right about now. Too bad you couldn't go get one for me. At Woolworth's or maybe someplace on the Pike. Charlie's stand makes amazing malts. How about one of those? He's open late."

"I am not going to fetch a vanilla malt for you. You shall have to do without this evening."

McCoy pouted. "Dammit. I remind myself of my ex-wife, and her cravings. She made me go out for a bag of tomatoes at 3am. She ate them by the ton. I didn't mind, good for potassium. A vanilla malt now that contains calcium. Vitamin D. Beneficial for a developing baby. There is something enherently satisfying about a nice, thick, creamy vanilla malt. It's also good for a pregnant man going nuts. Might calm him down, make him easier to live with albeit temporarily."

"Hmm."

By the canned laughter (or perhaps studio audience) emitting from the radio show, it appeared to be a comedy. McCoy listened to it for a few moments, chuckling faintly. "Red Skelton," he informed Spock.

Spock nodded and turned back to the dishes. He picked up the butcher knife. Stared at it.

_...he darts out of the cubicle that had contained him. he has escaped. barefoot, he runs down the long freezing corridor._

_there is a faint soundtrack of screams. he is not followed. there is no one in sight. hurry._

_mccoy is curled up in the corner of another cubicle. lying in a pool of blood. clutching a golden knife- blade down. mccoy is nude. his face void of emotion. the thoracic region reveals angry red cuts. Possibly self inflicted._

_"doctor…" he kneels down next to his shipmate._

_the glassy blue eyes are blown wide. "no...please…please… don't hurt me," he whimpers._

_"it is I, spock."_

_the man grits his teeth. "I don't know you."_

_"yes. you do."_

_"i cut it out," the man informs him. his voice is childlike._

_"cut what out?"_

_"the monster."_

_he pulls the knife away from mccoy. he drops it. it hits the tile floor with a clatter-_

"Spock?"

Spock spun around towards the doctor, now lying on the bed. "Yes?"

"You dropping stuff over there? You know you gotta wash it again if you do that."

Spock knelt down and picked up the knife, standing up, dropping it back into the water. He wiped his hands with the kitchen towel and strode across the room to the closet.

"Where you goin'?"

Spock pulled out his peacoat. "I believe you wanted a malt?"

He caught McCoy's rather wicked grin before he went out the door.

The walk down the Pike, was quiet, unusually so, however it was cold and foggy, still it unnerved him, the quiet and the fog. A van rumbled past, reminding him-

_-the shuttle. he must reach the shuttle._

_on the icy cold floor, the grouting in between the white tiles are tinged with the man's life fluids. he looks around for some sort of cloth, anything to clean mccoy up enough to transport him, or something to cover up the man's nakedness. he finally locates another gown._

_mccoy fights him. the brown hair is sweaty, matted, plastered to the side of his face. sweat or tears run from the bloodshot eyes. the man is delirious and strong, stronger than usual._

_he lays a hand on the man's face, manages to calm him. he shoves the gown onto the bruised arms._

_he scoops him up... mccoy feels nearly weightless...he goes to the doorway, pauses to check for guards._

_none are posted, he shoots down the corridor, his bare feet padding as he runs. Searching for the shuttle._

_he prefers to entertain the thought that there might be a way out._

_he cannot fathom why they were abducted, or who these aliens even are. no one has spoken to them, outright, declared intent._

_if Galileo is adrift in space- it would be ideal for Jim to find the craft. if the shuttle is parked here, they can escape on it. not all is lost._

_he spots the shuttle parked in a hangar._

_mccoy's blood is dotting through the fabric of the gown as he makes a run for it, the man's head lolling in his arms. the man is getting heavier, perhaps he is weakening. he reaches the Galileo._

_he gently shifts McCoy over to one arm, touches the cold metal on the shuttle to sequence in the unlock code._

_the code does not open the doors._

_he attempts it again, slower, in hopes he might have only made an error in the entry-again no success. he tries an auxiliary code._

_still nothing-_

He blinked. He spotted the still open malt stand, it's neon lights piercing through the fog.

* * *

He opened the door to the apartment, malt in hand. "Doctor," he called out, "I have returned with your-"

But McCoy was fast asleep, mouth open.

* * *

_'what are you going to do, spock?'_

_'leonard...it is our honeymoon, i am going to put myself inside you. do you consent to that?'_

_'of course, spock...i'm yours...'_

_the man is tense, nervous, scared, but he must do this. he slides in a finger up to the knuckle, it is tight. 'you are a virgin.'_

_'i've never done this before, that's for sure...uhhh..owww.'_

_'i am sorry-'_

"Spock, you're dreaming again." McCoy inched himself over to the edge and with some difficulty and soft groaning sat up and delicately donned his glasses. "You're making a poor pregnant man miss his beauty sleep. Why do you keep saying you're sorry?"

Spock got out of bed, uttered what sounded like a Vulcan obscenity, went to the bathroom to relieve himself. "Doctor," he called out from the bathroom.

"Yes?"

"Kindly lower the toilet seat down, when you have ceased using it."

"Why? We both stand up to pee. Though I'll be sitting down, like a woman, before long."

"Please cease using such a vulgar term to describe a bodily function."

"What, 'pee'?" McCoy balled up a fist to his diaphram and belched. "Pardon me," he said delibretly. "I can't say 'pee'? Alright, fine, if you insist. Urinate. That less offensive to your precious pointy ears?"

"Doctor, you are entirely too comfortable in my presence."

"Of course I am. Do you always want me on my guard around you?"

"I would appreciate some shipboard formality."

"Shit," McCoy scoffed. "When we're back on the Enterprise, I'll be formal, you better believe it! I'll refer to you as 'Commander', wear my goddamned dress uniform for a standard month without complaining, just because I miss having my neck in a sling, and believe you me, that thing feels a hell of a lot better than wearing a goddamned tie every day!"

Spock sighed, flushed the toilet, then finally exited. "What are still you doing up?"

"I can't sleep when you're screaming."

"I was not screaming."

"If you say so. Everything alright?"

"Everything is fine." Spock sat down at the kitchen table.

McCoy pulled out the kettle from the cupboard and began filling it with water.

"Dr. McCoy, that is unnecessary. I am perfectly capable of making my own—"

"Shut up, Spock, I'm already making it."

"Please go back to bed."

McCoy ignored him, scowled, then slammed the kettle down onto the burner, opening up the kerosene valve and lighting it with a match.

"I am perfectly capable of brewing my own tea!" Spock informed him. "I do not require you to—"

"Shut up, it's 3am!" McCoy snapped, as loud as Spock.

Suddenly, loud pounding errupted from on the other side of the wall.

"Oh for Christ's sake," McCoy seethed. He went over and knocked back on the wall as an answer.

Spock went over to the man and caught him by the wrist.

"What, Spock?"

"Please behave yourself. You do not need to engage in a long term battle with the next door neighbor."

"He started it. He's an idiot."

"Be that as it may, please endeavor to get along with the neighbors."

"Fine." McCoy placed a mug of hot water in front of him, dropping a tea bag into it. "Let it steep for a bit."

"I am aware."

There was silence for long moments until McCoy quietly asked: "Your hair is getting too long. How 'bout a haircut?"

Spock nodded.

McCoy walked over to pick up the comb and scissors in the bathroom. He'd cut family member's hair before and since landing here he'd done so out of necessity. Obviously the Vulcan couldn't go to any old barber to have it trimmed. The hair had a soft, silky texture that felt unusual to him. He ran a comb through it as his fingers slid along the strands, then he began expertly cutting it. This was also an excuse for him to do a final check up on Spock's hair for any more lice. Thankfully that ghastly stuff had worked and hadn't made the Vulcan's hair fall out.

McCoy was nearly finished when he began sniffling. "Dammit, don't tell me I'm allergic to your Vulcan mane?"

Spock looked over at him. "Blood."

_...mccoy covered in blood...blood red blood, blood everywhere, on the walls, in the cracks, the room is awash with the man's blood..._

"Humph?"

Spock reached over and touched McCoy on the mouth. "You have a nosebleed."

McCoy felt for himself and looked at his hand. "Oh…that is normal. Thankfully normal."

"Normal? For a pregnancy?"

"Yes. I'm carrying approximately 50 percent more blood."

Spock got up to the bathroom, fetching some tissues and handed them over to McCoy who was by now pinching the tip.

"Thanks. Don't worry, Spock. This is normal."

* * *

McCoy rubbed his belly and sang:

**'Spaceman,**

**born in Space**

**come to earth,**

**from this place**

**rock a bye,**

**lullaby spaceman,**

**beam away home,**

**spaceman-'**

"Sorry," McCoy said, when Spock lowered his newspaper to listen. "I don't have the greatest singing voice, but the kid likes it when I sing to it."

"Indeed?"

"Uh huh."

"Interesting tune, Dr. McCoy."

"It sure is. Used to sing the lullaby to Joanna, when she fussed. It's an old song."

"When was it written?"

McCoy hesitated for a moment, then frowned: "2178."

He fell quiet the rest of the evening.

* * *

_'bye bye spaceman!'_

_'bye,' he says._

* * *

Spock came home to find McCoy wearing an apron and cooking up a frenzy, every single pot and pan and utensil being utilized.

"Hi, Spock." The doctor smiled wide, showing his teeth.

Spock narrowed his eyes. The food did indeed smell pleasant however there was something amiss about the apartment. Tidier than usual. A red checkered cloth covered the kitchen table, along with place settings for four. "Good evening, Doctor."

"Keep your hat on," McCoy said as Spock began to remove it. "The girls will be over any minute. Oh...What's with the sourpuss?"

"Pardon?"

McCoy motioned at him. "The dour expression on your face. The girls are joining us for a little impromptu dinner party."

"I see. I was not notified."

"I know," McCoy replied with a sheepish grin. "Hence the term: 'impromptu'. I just decided to invite them over, this afternoon. Obviously there was no way to contact you. I felt like...you know, having some company. Is there a problem with that?"

"None, Doctor," Spock replied, tightly.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door.

"Get that, will ya?"

Myrtle and Carolyn. "Spock!" They said in unison. The both barreled in, full of energy, hugging him. He recoiled slightly at their combined touch but they did not appear to notice. They ran over to McCoy in the kitchen. Myrtle kissed him on the mouth and Carolyn kissed him on the cheek, both girls squealing.

Carolyn held up a bottle of wine. "Here."

"Good, well, that's what you're drinkin'," McCoy said, laughing.

"See?" Carolyn said. "He IS trying to get us both drunk and seduce us."

"What's for supper, Leonard?" Myrtle asked.

"Some southern down home cooking, just like I use to fix back home in Georgia," McCoy drawled out, deliberately in his regional accent. Spock rolled his eyes. McCoy glanced at him. "Take your coat off, Spock. Stay awhile!"

Spock sighed, removed his coat and hung it up in the closet.

During dinner, Spock felt himself becoming very restrained, very quiet, which of course went unnoticed by McCoy or the girls who chatted animately throughout. Spock did not deem himself entirely standoffish, as he did answer queries when anything was posed to him, however he offered no more than that. The food was not as he was accustomed, featuring some rather alien dishes, an equal number of meat dishes (for Myrtle and Carolyn to consume) and a few vegetarian, but the vegetables proved unrecognizable.

"That all yer gonna eat, Spock?" McCoy glared at him.

"I have consumed enough."

"Not nearly enough. What's the matter? Don't care for the food?"

"It is fine."

"Suit yourself." McCoy turned back to the girls. "Dessert?" They nodded. He got up, and produced a chocolate cake, setting it down on the table. "It's vegan, so Spock can have some."

Spock shook his head. "Not chocolate."

McCoy seemed rather deflated at that. "Oh. You sure?"

"Yes. I am... allergic."

"No, you're not," McCoy replied. "I would know it if you were. Fine, not gonna force you. Ladies?"

The girls nodded, McCoy served them each a slice and then one for himself. "You sure, Spock?" Spock nodded. McCoy stood up. "Want some grapes, Spock?"

Spock stood and motioned for the doctor to sit. "I shall fetch my own fruit."

"Be my guest."

After finishing their slices of cake and Spock finished his fruit, the girls helped McCoy clear up, then Carolyn produced a board game from out of her purse.

"Scrabble? You have Scrabble?" McCoy asked in an incredulous tone of voice.

"Of course. Why are you so surprised?"

"I just...I've never...seen it like this before. With tiles and a board."

Carolyn laughed. "That's the only way Scrabble comes!"

"'Spose you're right. Spock? You playin'?"

"Evidently."

"You girls want another slice of cake?" Myrtle and Carolyn nodded, McCoy gave them both another piece and one for himself. "You know what's odd?" he asked after a moment. "I feel...suddenly sleepy, strange."

"Well, did ya put something in the cake?" Carolyn asked.

"No. No booze. Not at all." Spock raised an eyebrow at him. "It's gotta be my imagination," McCoy said, shaking his head. He continued to make his way through his second slice.

They set up the scrabble game with Myrtle and then Carolyn going first, then McCoy and then Spock. As Myrtle's first letter in her first word was A for 'annex', Carolyn waved her turn. McCoy put down 'vex', scowling and claiming he had a 'lousy selection of tiles'. Spock lay down the word" 'retains', earning himself on his first turn 107 points.

McCoy shook his head, grumbling, finishing up his slice of cake.

Later on in the game, McCoy lay down tiles creating the word: 'neuromuscular'. Myrtle and Carolyn booed at the amount of points he racked up. "What the hell does that mean?" Carolyn said.

"The relationship between the nerves and muscles," McCoy replied. "Your turn, Spock."

Spock, taking into account the letter R and Myrtle's P from 'pensive' to lay down the letters to create: 'saprophyte'.

"Oh, for Pete's sake!" Carolyn complained. McCoy laughed hysterically. Spock raised an eyebrow.

"We should have known better than to play with a walking dictionary," McCoy said, still giggling madly. He took the word 'his' and made it 'schistosomiasis'.

"Oh, Jesus!" Myrtle said. "That's not a damned word."

"It is," Spock said. "It means the life cycle of a parasite."

"We should have known better than to play with you two!" Carolyn replied.

Myrtle and Carolyn each lay down letters, McCoy laid down his, then Spock created the word: 'mactabilis'.

"No!" McCoy seethed. "No latin!"

"It is a word," Spock protested.

"What does it mean?" Carolyn asked.

"Lethal."

"You can't use latin!" McCoy protested, much too loudly.

"It does not say anywhere in the rules that I cannot. Therefore, one might logically assume that one can."

"You can't use Latin in scrabble! Standard, only! I mean, English!" McCoy pounded his fist on the table.

Myrtle reached across and rubbed McCoy's shoulder. "It's a word, let him use it."

"Let him use it?" McCoy scowled at her. "Fine! Alright, Spock, you go right on ahead."

"Thank you."

Myrtle and Carolyn laid down their words, then McCoy fired back with: 'balatro'. "Oooh," he whispered. Smiling evilly.

"What does that mean?" Carolyn said, now apparently annoyed.

"A buffoon," Spock replied.

"Latin?"

"It is." Spock laid down the word 'onus'.

Myrtle tapped Carolyn on the shoulder. The two girls suddenly stood up.

"Hey, where you goin?" McCoy asked.

"We just remembered we left the oven on," Carolyn replied.

McCoy stood up as well. "I'll walk you two back to your place."

"No, that's alright, you two finish the game, we'll let ourselves out."

"Oh. Alright." McCoy sat down and glared at his tiles. Myrtle and Carolyn shut the door behind them.

Suddenly the doctor stood again, upended the board, making all the tiles crash into the center of the table. He took his own tiles and dumped them into the mix. "Okay, you Scrabble cheating, green blooded hobgoblin! You wanna play dirty?! Latin Scrabble? Fine! Just gonna get me another slice of cake, since you weren't the least bit sociable to have any." He cut himself another slice and took a bite. "Doesn't matter that I spent all day fixing this goddamned meal. You had to act like a fucking asshole tonight, wouldn't even sample the dessert I made, well thanks a hell of a lot. Fine, you want Latin Scrabble, you bastard!? Let's have at it!"

"Doctor."

"Hurry up... and pick your fucking tiles...and lets do this!"

"You are slurring your words."

"What?"

"Your voice is slurred."

"That's impossible, I only slur when I'm drunk!" McCoy snapped. "I'm not tired... oh no...goddamn it, I'm having a fucking stroke or a goddamned aneurism." McCoy immediately got up and went to the bathroom. Spock followed him. McCoy began smiling at the mirror, studying at his reflection, his face from all angles, testing his mouth, looking at his tongue, looking at the rest of his body, testing his hands, his feet. "I'm not having a stroke. At least I don't think so. Are you sure I'm slurring? Jesus...I AM slurring...I feel really strange right now." He wobbled.

"Sit down." Spock pushed him to sit on the toilet.

"There's nothing amiss in anything I fixed. The ingredients... No booze whatsoever. Alcohol would be the only thing to have this particular affect on me."

"Real Vanilla extract used for baking has a trace amount of alcohol."

"I know, but I've had vanilla malts with no problems. Vanilla alcohol in cake before baking would cook right out anyway. It's not the vanilla."

"Are you allergic to anything?"

"Not the food. Cake was vegan, no eggs, I had no meat. I've had this food before, no ill effects." McCoy's eyes narrowed and he looked up. "Why didn't you eat any cake?"

"Chocolate contains cocoa. Even in small amounts it makes me extremely intoxicated."

"Cocoa makes Vulcans drunk?"

"Precisely."

"That info is not in your sickbay file," McCoy said, pouting. Spock shrugged. "It should be in your damned file. I feel like I've had two too many brandies." McCoy stood up, rather unsteady on his feet. Spock caught his arm. "I need to lie down."

Spock nodded and guided him over to the bed. McCoy sat down heavily, leaning forward, trying to remove his shoes. "I will assist you," Spock said. He delicately removed the man's glasses and set them on the nightstand where McCoy could find them in the morning. He lifted up the man's undershirt and couldn't help but notice the small but developed breasts along with the swelled abdomen.

McCoy noticed the staring, of course. "That's all me, Spock."

"Indeed."

"Do you like breasts?" McCoy giggled. "You seem to."

"I am not..." Spock broke off and looked away. "I must remove the rest of your clothing in order to put your pygamas on."

"I know... I know."

Spock moved McCoy's legs out to put him in a reclining position. He undid the fastening to the trousers and gently slid them off.

"Oh my God, the baby..." McCoy muttered, hands resting on belly. "It's kicking...See if it's okay, will ya?"

Spock nodded, laying a hand on the abdomen. "Healthy." He removed his hand.

"Chocolate really intoxicates you, Spock?"

"Yes."

"It does not have that effect on humans... yet I'm definitely drunk. Why would I be affected?" McCoy mumbled, sighing heavily, his accent so thick as to make him almost indecipherable. "It's...so...bizarre." (Said 'bizahhhhh')

Spock selected the man's bottoms out of the drawer and slid them up the man's hips. "Would you like to sleep in an undershirt or your pygama top?"

"I'm cold…pygyama top…if you don't mind." McCoy reached out and patted him. "Good, old Spock...always taking care of me...you do...don't you? Y'always there for me?"

_'forgive me,' he whispers to the unconscious man in his arms._

"Always," Spock whispered.

McCoy closed his eyes and fell asleep.

* * *

_cornered._

_behind them, an archway with a swirling vortex of images and color—striking against the pure white of this hellish place. the siren sounds, alerting others to their attempted escape. The dancing rainbow lights, faintly reminds him of the 'Guardian of forever', as it did indeed appear to be some sort of gateway. to where? another dimension? or a transporter of some type?_

_anywhere is better than here._

_in front of him, ten abductors. masks. the siren wails. 'weeeeeeeeeoooooooo...weeeeeeeeeooooooooo...'_

_this time the figures have weapons drawn._

_their own captured federation phasers._

_out of the corner of his eye he sees the vortex._

_"forgive me, doctor," he whispers._

_he spins around and jumps through the archway…_

* * *

Spock stood shaving at the sink. The bathroom door opened and the doctor entered without preamble. He knelt down at the toilet and vomited. He wiped his mouth with toilet paper, flushed, looked up and scowled.

"Good morning," Spock offered, politely.

McCoy's face could have frozen molten plutonium. He got to his feet and left without a word.

Spock finished up, then came out to find McCoy in the kitchen, a very angry expression on the man's face, drinking a glass of water. "Guess any kind of chocolate is out," McCoy hissed. Spock noted the cocoa tin lying on the trash receptacle. He nodded and went to the living area to begin dressing for work.

There remained complete silence between them, until Spock donned his peacoat.

"Goodbye, Doctor." McCoy nodded and sipped on his water.

Spock's hand rested on the door and McCoy piped up: "Spock."

"Yes?"

McCoy cleared his throat. "I'm sorry that I invited the girls over last night, without asking you first."

"It is of no consequence."

"But it is. After a long day at work any idiot could tell you weren't in the mood for having any guests over. And this is your apartment, too."

Spock nodded. "You owe me a game of Latin Scrabble."

McCoy smirked and shook his head as Spock went out the front door.

* * *

_'i've never felt so alone in my life! and george over there...looking so...i hate him...i wish i were dead. papa! papa!'_

* * *

McCoy closed up Looff's carousel ride, then began sweeping the cement floor. The night had been slow due to onslaught of pouring rain. He was about to pull the gate shut, when he found Spock standing before him. "Why, hello."

"I thought I would escort you home." Spock held up a large black umbrella.

"Where'd you get that?"

"I bought it."

"Is walking me home your birthday gift to me?" McCoy joked.

"I was not aware of it being your birthday."

"Didn't think you would be, Mr. Spock." McCoy set the broom down. "Hang on, let me lock up."

Spock studied the nearby calliope organ. "This is steam powered."

McCoy turned it on so they could listen to it play: 'Let Me Call You Sweetheart' for a few moments. "The organ is an antique, even in this day and age. Built in 1900," he said, proudly. "It is beautiful. I could listen to it all day long."

"Fascinating." Spock ran a hand down the nose of one of the wooden horses. "These are exquisitely carved." He touched the tail made from real horse hair. "The finest workmanship I have seen in awhile."

McCoy nodded. "I meant to clean them. They're getting a little dusty." He picked up a bottle of olive oil and a rag. "You don't have to wait on me to finish up. This is going to be awhile."

"Have you another cleaning implement?"

"A rag?" McCoy tossed him one. Together they cleaned all of the horses in no time. "Alright, that's it then." He hung his apron on the nail and pulled the gate shut.

Spock opened up the umbrella. McCoy got close to him and they strode together in the rain, down the midway. Spock noted the much slower pace McCoy was moving at these days and made certain there were no slippery areas where the man might trod.

They entered their building. Again the elevator had an out of order sign. McCoy was forced to stop at the bottom of the staircase to take a breather. "They're never going to fix the lift, are they?"

"Take it slowly," Spock admonished him. "Or would you like me to carry you?"

"Don't you dare."

They finally reached their apartment and opened up the door.

"Surprise!" About six young women jumped out from the kitchen and bathroom throwing confetti. McCoy realized the apartment was festooned with balloons and streamers.

"What the hell?!" McCoy jumped back. "What are all you ladies all doing— How'd you get in here? God…damn near gave me a heart attack. Good thing I didn't have any undies hanging up on the clothesline."

"It's your birthday," Myrtle said. "This is a surprise party. Silly!"

"How'd you know it was my—?" McCoy looked over at Spock studying the peeling linolium on the kitchen floor.

Carolyn turned on the phonograph, dropping a record onto the platter. "Got the brand new 'Andrew Sisters' just for you, Doc!"

"As long as it's not: 'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy'!" McCoy said.

"Wait!" one of the other girls said, who's name Spock recalled to be Anne. "Time for happy birthday, first!"

The relative quite of their apartment was now consumed in utter gleeful, squealing chaos. The girls pushed McCoy over to the kitchen table, where a cake was sitting, waiting for him. 'Happy Birthday, Doc,' it said. He laughed when he saw it.

"I baked it, myself," Myrtle told him.

"Thank you, Baby." McCoy kissed her.

They sat him down in front of the cake. "Vanilla, just for you! Chocolate gives him diarrhea!" Carolyn explained to the other girls.

"Hey!" he said. They plopped a party hat onto his head. "Must I?" he complained.

"Take a picture!" One of the girls aimed a camera. Myrtle stood next to McCoy. "Get in there, Spock!" Spock raised an eyebrow, "Get in there!" He darted next to McCoy, posing for the camera. The flash went off.

"For posterity," Myrtle said as they put the camera away. "Take off your coat. Stay awhile!"

"No…no…I'm leaving it on," McCoy insisted. "It's cold in here."

"And watch out, he's fifty years old today, so there's gonna be a regular ol' forest fire erupting on the cake," Carolyn told everyone as another girl lit the candles. "Careful, Betty, don't burn the building down. Although it might be a good thing if we did."

The girls sang a rousing rendition of:

**"Happy Birthday to you!**

**You belong in the zoo,**

**You look like a monkey,**

**And you smell like one too!"**

"Those are not the correct words to 'Happy Birthday'," Spock protested.

McCoy blew out the candles, laughing hysterically. Slices of cake were promptly handed out, then the girls gave him gifts. "I feel like a kid again," McCoy announced, thanking each girl and beaming when Myrtle gave him a set of monogrammed handkerchiefs.

"Hey, no smoking!" McCoy yelled over at a couple girls in the corner.

"Aw, not even with the window open?"

"Not even with the window open."

"He's a doctor," one of them muttered as an explanation.

The evening wore down, and various girls went on their merry way. Myrtle and Carolyn helped Spock tidy up from the impromptu party. McCoy insisted upon leaving up the decorations. They escorted Myrtle and Carolyn to their apartment, said 'goodnight' and and made their way back home.

Only then McCoy removed his trench coat. "Thanks for putting up with a birthday party, Spock." He smirked. "Though, I still can't figure out how the girls broke in here." He went to the closet to hang it up, then proceeded to remove the rest of his clothing. "Laundry day tomorrow."

"You should not be carting laundry to the service at this juncture. I shall accomplish the task as soon as time permits," Spock called out.

McCoy replied, in the middle of shucking off his clothing: "We're running out of clean underwear."

"Doctor, please sit down."

McCoy obediently sat down on the bed, groaning as he did. "My feet hurt."

"Allow me to assist you." Spock removed the doctor's shoes, putting them over to the side.

McCoy wriggled his toes. "Feels better."

Spock reached into the interior pocket of his suit and handed McCoy a tiny package.

"What is this?"

"That is for you."

"For me?"

McCoy opened it to find his ring they'd had to pawn when they'd first arrived.

"How'd you get this? The pawn ticket ran out."

"Not quite. Today was the last day I could retrieve it."

As McCoy stared at it, tears ran down his face and he shook his head, ruefully. "Goddamned hormones."

Spock sat down next to him on the bed.

"This was my mother's ring," McCoy went on. "I inherited it when she passed away. It was the only thing of hers I wanted." He tried to slip the ring onto his pinky. It wouldn't fit. His fingers were too swollen. "Dammit." He wiped away more tears.

Spock gently took the ring from him and slipped it onto his own pinky. "I shall look after it, until you are able to wear it again."

They fell silent, sitting together on the bed for long moments.

McCoy stared at his own hands. "He's not coming, is he?"

Spock sighed. The captain should have been here by now, even if it had taken him months, years, he would have been here within a week. "Perhaps he is having extreme difficultly in locating us."

"Or, he no longer exists."

"That is…I prefer to..." Spock stopped.

"Have you calculated the odds that Jim will find us?"

Spock hesitated. "873,567,4567.32 to 1."

"Not very high, is it."

"No, it is not," Spock whispered, his voice as bleak as McCoy's.

* * *

ON TO THE NEXT PART...


	5. February

**FEBRUARY**

**LONG BEACH INDEPENDENT**

**British forces in Singapore fought back fiercely last night against the Jap invasion of the island stronghold. The Australian commander in Singapore insisted the situation was well in hand.**

* * *

"I want to do something nice for Myrtle for Valentine's day," McCoy announced out of the blue as he placed Spock's breakfast down on the kitchen table.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because. I want to. Is that too much to ask?"

"I am unfamiliar with the traditions of this particular Earth holiday."

"It's not an actual holiday…it's simply a special remembrance day set aside for lovers. And what do you mean—unfamiliar? There's only been advertising for weeks on radio and in the newspaper. Decorations everywhere."

"You and Myrtle are not lovers."

McCoy grimaced as he walked into the bathroom and picked up the box of tooth floss, pulling out a piece. "I know that, Mr. Spock. I still…wanted to commemorate it. I want to let her know I care about her."

Spock coughed a fraction as he took a sip of his tea. "I see."

McCoy stood in the doorway flossing his teeth. "You know…this has got to be the most goddamned inefficient way to keep teeth clean—Valentine's Day is today, in case you were wondering. I'm off work the whole day. Thought I'd…I don't know. Buy her some flowers. Maybe take her out tonight."

"Are flowers not prohibitively expensive?"

McCoy smacked his hand on the doorway, toothbrush in mouth. "We paid the rent. We're alright on food, we've got extra rations left. Flowers aren't going to compromise us too much."

"And I am to be expected to accompany you with Carolyn tonight?"

"No."

Spock looked up sharply. "No?"

"I plan on going out with Myrtle alone."

"It is unsafe to do so in your condition."

"Mr. Spock, I do appreciate your concern. Truly I do. But… I go to and from work alone. I go grocery shopping for the both of us, on my own. I go to Woolworth's on my own. I do many things on my own without your help or protection. I shall go out on a date with Miss Myrtle Lundgren, utilizing the utmost care. I will take it easy. I am certain my girlfriend will not allow anything untoward to happen to me, either."

"'Girlfriend'?," Spock repeated.

"Spock, we've been hanging around with these two girls, taking 'em out…I think it's safe to assume we have girlfriends."

Spock sighed. "Your girlfriend does not know you are six months pregnant. Does she?"

McCoy slowly pushed himself up from his chair. "I don't even know why I'm discussing this with you."

Spock took another sip of his tea. "Doctor, is your irrational behavior due to the pregnancy hormones, or are you always an incurable romantic?"

"Dammit! What the hell's that supposed to mean?!"

"Every interaction with these people brings the danger of changing history. Even seemingly minor dalliances could have severe repercussions for us."

"All I'm doing is taking a girl out for Valentines Day!"

"And that seemingly minor action could erase Jim Kirk and the Enterprise from history. Trapping us on Earth in 1942."

McCoy slammed his hand on the table, said tightly: "He's already gone. We're already trapped!"

"It is unlike you, Doctor McCoy, to give up so easily," Spock replied. "Have you forgotten who we really are?"

Silence for long moments.

"Are you almost ready to leave?" McCoy asked, quietly.

"Affirmative."

"Then, I will walk downstairs with you."

Spock nodded and collected his pea-coat and hat.

They made their way through the lobby of their building, when the attendant called out to them: "Mail for you."

Spock took the envelope from the man's outstretched hand. "Thank you."

McCoy looked over his shoulder. "What is it?"

"Obviously, I do not know the contents of the envelope."

"Well then, open it!"

"Certainly, Doctor." Spock opened it and pulled out the frilly, heart shaped card. He frowned perceptively. The inscription was written in beautiful hand written calligraphy:

** 'Be mine.**

** Love,** **Guess who? **

**and Stardust.'**

"Looks like you have acquired a girlfriend, Mr. Spock."

* * *

Spock came home to an empty, quiet apartment.

On board the Enterprise, he often craved the solitude of his own quarters, but here, it simply seemed...lonely.

On the kitchen table sat a bouquet of pink roses accompanied by a note on real paper. Spock studied the flowers and could not help but hold them up to his nose and inhale their delicate scent as he read the note:

** 'Evening, Spock.**

** Perhaps you could find something logical to do with these. There's dinner in the fridge for you.**

** Don't blow the place up when you reheat it in the oven. And make sure you open up the goddamned windows.**

** Happy Valentines Day, even it if is illogical.**

** I'll be home late, don't wait up.**

** L.H.M.'**

Spock had rarely viewed the doctor's actual handwriting before now—as writing with a pen on paper was all but obsolete in their own century. The man signed his initials with an unusual flourish.

Spock went out of the apartment, down one flight of stairs, roses in hand.

He hesitated briefly, then knocked on the door.

It opened. Carolyn stood in the doorway. Her face was red, eyes glistening and wet. "Is everything all right?" he enquired of her.

She nodded.

He held out the roses. Carolyn took the flowers, broke out into a smile, lunged for him. She drew him into a bear hug and placed a kiss onto his mouth. He allowed the kiss but did not give her one in return.

"Would you like to come in? Have a slice of cake?" she asked. "Some coffee?"

He studied her. Truly the woman was lovely. Curvy figure. Blonde. Blue eyed. The color as beautiful, electric and expressive as McCoy's. He shook his head. "I am sorry. I must return to my own apartment. The doctor shall be return soon, from his date."

Sadness clouded her features, the smile dissolved. "I understand. Thank you for the flowers. Happy Valentines Day."

"Happy Valentines Day," he repeated politely. "Good night."

He left Carolyn standing in the doorway and returned to his abode.

* * *

The clock hand hit precisely 1:07 am when the key to the door turned in the lock and McCoy walked in.

Spock looked up from his newspaper. "Greetings."

"What are you still doing up? I am absolutely exhausted." McCoy shut the door, removed his trench coat and hat, hung the coat up in the closet, setting the hat carefully up on the shelf. "And how was your day?"

"Fine," Spock said simply.

"Fine?" McCoy loosened his tie. "I'm going to kill the person who invented these medieval torture devices. This thing has been cutting into my neck all night." He sat down on the bed with a groan. "And these shoes. Would you believe they're getting too tight?" He tried to toe them off, but was unsuccessful. He chuckled. "Spock?"

"Yes, Doctor?"

"I never thought I'd ever ask you for this favor in a million years—"

"Certainly." Spock knelt down in front of him, untied the wing tip shoes. He then pulled off the doctor's socks. The feet were red where the socks had bunched up. Spock nonchalantly began rubbing the bare soles, digging his fingers into the balls of the doctor's feet.

"You don't...oh, that feels good...you don't have to do that," the doctor whined.

"I ran your bath." Spock continued what he was doing.

McCoy smiled. "Thank you. How'd you know I was on my way home?"

"I could hear you clambering up the steps and Myrtle giggling."

"Oh." McCoy met Spock's eyes for only an instant before the both of them quickly looked away.

Spock rose suddenly and helped the doctor to his feet. "There is something on the kitchen table for you."

"Oh?" McCoy went over to the kitchen, unbuttoning his shirt. "I'm going to need a bigger size shirt, this thing is getting tight, and new pants, too."

"We can go shopping for them on Saturday," Spock murmured, on his way into the bathroom.

McCoy picked up the card on the table. It was addressed to 'Leonard'. "Those silly girls!" he called back to Spock. He didn't hear a reply so he opened the card.

'Be mine.'

He glanced over at Spock who reentered the living area.

The handwriting was clearly recognizable.

"Are you ready for your bath?" Spock enquired.

"Huh? Yeah. Just a moment." McCoy opened up the valentine and propped it up on it's end on the nightstand. He carefully took off his glasses, then walked over and set them down.

McCoy came into the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He pulled it off. Spock held out his arm and helped the doctor into the water, he could not avoid staring at the doctor's abdomen.

McCoy appeared bashful under the attention. "I'm going to be huge by the end." He rubbed his belly. "It's alright, kid," he said to his belly. "Baby's moving around. Slept all day now it's gonna party all night, keep me up. Using my internal organs as a punching bag."

* * *

**"Dummy Is Real", Claims Local Man**

**Leonard McCoy, 50, a Long Beach resident who purports to be an unemployed physician, now working as a concessionaire for Looff's amusements, insists the dummy hanging from a rope at "Laff In The Dark" funhouse located at 210-A-A-A West Pike Avenue, is a real preserved human being. McCoy told the LB Independent: "It's a (censored) shame to treat a man like that, what the (censored) is wrong with you people?"**

**Acting on Dr. McCoy's claims, the Long Beach Police Department was drawn to the human-like display, which was indeed hanging from a rope. Criminalist E. Williams and filling officer Jones examined the display, and were directed by Dr. McCoy that beneath the outer covering there appeared to be a bone type structure having bone-like joints. There was also noted to be a small trace of hair on the back of the leg. The display remarkably resembled a human cadaver in size and proportion. The cadaver was transported to the medical examiner's office for the county of Los Angeles, where he was tagged as 'John Doe #255. Dr. Joseph Choi performed an autopsy. Dr. Choi confirmed the remains were human and the cause of death was from a bullet wound. No word yet, on who the body belongs to."**

"Doctor." Spock indicated the newspaper article the next morning at the breakfast table.

"What?" McCoy replied. "Myrtle and I went into the 'Laff in the Dark' funhouse last night. I saw that poor thing hanging, plain as day. Wasn't going to let a man hang like that. Disgusting how they treated that corpse. 'Purports to be an unemployed physician'? Hmph. And you know what else they have, a goddamned freak show. Live exhibits, human beings on display for being different. I can't believe these people."

"By finding this dummy, you might have done more damage."

"Would you stop with that? History is already changed, Mr. Spock. We can't help it. Besides, if by some miracle, Jim is still out there, my name's in the paper. That's even better than a personal ad. It's on the front page, plain as day."

Spock nodded. McCoy was correct. "Indeed."

"I'll never go back in that place."

"Which place?"

"Laff In The Dark...never go back there. Hanging corpses. Just like the medical facility."

_he reaches up towards the swinging, nude, bloodied body, hanging. a hook imbeded into the torso, the chain secured from the ceiling..._

"Yes," Spock agreed. "Understandable."

* * *

Spock awakened to find McCoy snuggled up against his back. He could feel the baby's strong kicks. Through the physical contact he also could sense McCoy was not asleep.

"Doctor?"

"Uhhh?"

"Are you having difficulty sleeping?"

"Baby's keeping me up. Think it's got the hiccups or something."

"Ah."

With various grunts and groans, McCoy moved apart from him, heaving himself to a sitting position. "Be right back." He rose up from the bed, a feat which was obviously more and more difficult for the man as the weeks wore on. He waddled (yes waddled) into the bathroom.

After a few moments he reemerged. He returned to bed, sighed, then lay down. He inched his body over, attaching himself once again to Spock. "You don't mind, do you? I'm so cold."

Spock flipped onto his back then pulled McCoy over to lay his head on his chest in an attempt to make the man a bit more comfortable. "Is this better?"

"Yeah, but you didn't have to-"

"Is this better?" he enquired again.

"Yeah. Thanks."

McCoy's arm wound around Spock's waist. Spock allowed his hand to drift onto the doctor's hair. He began softly petting it in perhaps a comforting gesture. The man's breathing hitched but he said nothing.

Suddenly they were treated with the loud sounds of the next door neighbor's lovemaking.

McCoy snorted.

* * *

_'hold still leonard...'_

_'it hurts spock...it hurts! the blade...god it hurts...'_

_'shhhhhh...'_

_'what's that noise?'_

_'it's only the alarm to notify the others...they're ready to watch the surgery...it's a momentous occasion...they all desire to watch…from the theatre-'_

Spock jolted awake at the sudden onset of that loud, shrill, eerie noise, starting out at a low pitch, rising higher, then going low again, repeating itself endlessly.

McCoy, in their warm cocoon against the freezing apartment air, groaned out: "Goddammit, not another one. Never fails to send shivers down the spine. What time is it?"

"2:55 am." Spock got out of bed, switched off the light in the bathroom and lit the blackout candle.

Just then there was a knock at the front door. "Spock? Leonard? Open up, it's us."

"The girls."

McCoy motioned at Spock so he reached into the closet, pulling out the man's trench coat and threw it over to him. McCoy quickly donned it. "Alright, let 'em in."

The two girls squealed and rushed in as soon as Spock opened the door. "Shhhh, shhhh," McCoy hushed them. The girls dove onto the bed next to McCoy.

"I hate air raid sirens," Myrtle said.

"We have to go down to the basement," Carolyn added.

"No, no, no," McCoy said. "It's alright, we'll stay here."

"Stay here, are you dingy?"

"Spock? What do you think? Think they'll be okay up here? Maybe you should take the girls down."

"I brought my binoculars in case some action happens," Carolyn told him.

McCoy was about to snicker, when a deep rumbling, vibrating sound suddenly began.

"What is that?" Myrtle asked.

The vibrating grew more intense, until one could feel it in the bones.

"Jesus…What IS that?" McCoy wondered.

"The sound suggests some type of dirigible," Spock ascertained.

"It's right here… off the coast," McCoy replied.

They held their breaths as the sky exploded in anti-aircraft fire. "Let me see those binoculars," McCoy said. He peeled a piece of the black-out paper from the window then peered into the binoculars. White, huge, cigar shaped. "It looks like a an old Zepp-a Zeppelin." McCoy's heart nearly stopped when he spotted a symbol on the fin. Two intersecting isosceles triangles. "Spock," McCoy whispered, horrified. "It's them."

"Who?" Myrtle asked.

Spock joined him at the window, took the binoculars from him, looking through them. "That object is larger than a Zeppelin."

"Is it the Nazi's or the Japs?" Myrtle asked.

Spock looked at McCoy. "Neither."

* * *

"Statements from both Biscailuz and the newspaper resulting from Secretary of Navy Frank Knox's assertion, that he understood the five-hour blackout and anti-aircraft firing were based on a 'False Alarm'. 'We could not identify the object.' Washington has-"

"They're looking for us," McCoy said. "False alarm my ass. There was anti-aircraft fire, for God's sake."

"Yes."

"Well, Mr. Spock? We have to get out of here! We'll take the girls with us. Move someplace else."

"With the girls?"

"I'm not leaving Myrtle behind. And Carolyn can't stay here alone."

"It is imperative we stay in this general area to ease in Jim's locating us. The captain and I did as such in 1930's New York when we needed to locate you."

"Yes, but you and Jim weren't in danger of any captors! We need to do something."

"Affirmative. We shall sit tight and wait for the captain."

"You complain about my romantic notions-you still think he's coming! That's a romantic, illogical notion if I ever heard one."

"Myrtle and Carolyn," Spock said, suddenly.

"What about them?"

"I have a theory that the girls are leading them to us. It is not simply coincidental that the females associate with us. I believe that they are aliens."

"Myrtle and Carolyn are aliens? The captors? What proof do you have?"

"None. Nevertheless I-"

"That is the most insane idea I've ever heard. You're...grasping. The aliens don't need any help. The girls hang around us because they like us! They've formed an attachment to us. Romantically. Nothing else."

"Do you not agree that there have been several alarming coincidences regarding the girls? The attacks on the coastline-"

"You said those were meant to be."

"They appear to be more frequent than had reportedly occurred in history."

McCoy stormed off, went into the bathroom. He returned to face Spock. "They're not fucking aliens!"

The wall suddenly erupted with pounding emanating from the next door neighbor. Then the unfortunate sound of: 'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy'

* * *

McCoy was curled up on the bed one afternoon, falling into a catnap, when it hit him.

Spock. Something about Spock wasn't right. The Vulcan was too…contented these days. Too complacent. Hadn't even tried to find a way home for them. Wasn't he worried about the captors?

The hobgoblin—they'd fought all the way on that shuttle to the conference before they'd been kidnapped—he remembered:

_'mr. spock," jim says. "Guess what?"_

_'captain.'_

_'our own Doctor Leonard McCoy has won a highly prestigious award.'_

_McCoy bounces on his heels next to Kirk, smirking and practically bursting with pride._

_Spock glances over from Kirk to McCoy, then back to Jim. "In what? Shamanism?"_

_"Smart ass," McCoy replies. "That's not very goddamned funny. He's not funny at all, Jim! In Xenobiolgoical medicine, you green blooded hobgoblin! I'll have you know I beat out ten thousand other physicians from across the universe."_

_Spock rolls his eyes._

_"Who taught you that move, anyhow? You know it's human to roll your eyes. 'And you're beginning to overuse it," McCoy snaps._

_"Gentlemen," Jim broke in. "Enough. Dr. McCoy's award shall be handed out at the Menara Medical Conference on Xenu II. Bones wants to attend the entire conference. I thought perhaps you, Mr. Spock, would accompany him."_

_"Me?"_

_"You."_

_"Spock?!" McCoy seethes. "I can go by myself! I don't need him to babysit me."_

_"Bones, you can't pilot a long range shuttlecraft."_

_"Then teach me, it'd be worth it. Or better yet, send somebody else with me. Please!"_

_"Bones, Spock, you go together. That's an order."_

_"Of course, Captain."_

_"Fine, Jim." McCoy rolls his eyes._

_"Just...try not to kill each other, will ya?"_

Now…Spock had become… bizarrely protective of him.

Spock even ran his bath every night. Rubbed his feet.

That wasn't at all like Spock.

Was it possible that 'Spock' was actually one of them?

* * *

_'why can't i stay just as i am? let's go away-_

"Something wrong, Doctor?" Spock asked.

McCoy eyed him. "How's your supper?"

"It is quite good."

McCoy lay a protective hand on his own abdomen and said coldly: "Good? That word isn't in your regular vernacular."

* * *

_'spock?' he sits up._

_the vulcan, clad in a white robe, pushes him down onto the bed...'shhh'_

* * *

**"President Roosevelt has just signed Executive Order 9066. Areas of California, including Los Angeles county has been declared an exclusion zone for anyone of Japanese ancestry. All Japanese persons on the pacific coast are ordered to report to internment camps. Due to the recent Pearl Harbor bombing, the Christmas day bombing, and the recent Zeppelin monitoring of the Pacific Coastline, X it has been deemed that the Pacific coast-"**

"Forcing people into concentration camps because they are Japanese?! Are you people insane?" McCoy said to the radio.

"Doctor. This event is meant to happen."

"Keeping track, eh, Mr. Spock?"

* * *

McCoy peered through the broken glass. The laundry was empty. A flimsy board had been hastily nailed across the door. He tore it off, and went inside.

Chaos everywhere.

The family had left in a hurry that was for sure.

* * *

"It appeared as if they'd been taken by force," McCoy said to Spock that evening. 'They didn't just walk away and leave their shop. They were taken. Was that the US Government?"

"I would assume so."

"Or was it?"

"What do you mean, Doctor?"

"Maybe they're...maybe they're not really being put into concentration camps or internment camps or whatever the hell they're calling it. Maybe they're actually being herded by our captors to use in their horrible experiments."

"That is entirely possible."

"Well, what are we going to do about it?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"We cannot do anything. The internment was meant to happen in history."

"Yeah, but we don't know that's actually what's happening."

"Did you see anyone?"

"No."

"Then we can do nothing. We cannot prove anything. As they say, our hands are tied."

McCoy sat down heavily. "You inhuman monster," he breathed.

* * *

_he feels down his abdomen...empty._

_'where's my baby!' he screams out. 'where's my baby?!"_

_'leonard...i am sorry.' spock stands next to the bed._

_'where's my baby, spock?'_

_'the child is dead...stillborn.'_

_'no! you're lying!' he screams. 'you're LYING!'_

_'i am sorry...'_

* * *

McCoy felt the agony. Too soon. Labor. The worst pain he'd ever felt.

"Spock…" he cried out. "It's too soon…too soon…too soon…too soon…"

"Not to worry, Doctor." Spock pulled him to a sitting position "I will prepare you for surgery."

McCoy gasped as another wave of agonizing pain hit. He said through gritted teeth: "I haven't even told you how-"

"I know what to do. Trust me."

Something in McCoy told him to trust the Vulcan. Spock picked him up and lay him on the kitchen table. "Table…isn't…sterile…" Spock was gone for a few moments. "Spock…Spock…table isn't sterile…"

Spock returned with a butcher knife. "Relax."

"Why do you have a butcher knife, Spock?" McCoy found himself asking dazedly, as he looked on: "Why do you have a butcher knife?"

"To cut the child out."

McCoy lay back in relief. "Oh…that sounds logical."

"Relax."

"I am."

"Good."

Spock pointed the butcher knife down-

"Oh…Jesus!" McCoy gasped, snapping awake, heart pounding out of his skull. The baby shifted inside of him. Easy kid just a nightmare.

* * *

_he hears a baby's cry. 'that's my baby...!' he breaks out into a smile. 'my baby! i know it's cry anywhere!'_

_'leonard...no...'_

_he jumps up, out of the bed._

_'you need to be resting...'_

_'fuck you,' he tells the vulcan. he finds a butcher knife, goes to find his baby._

_he finds the babe in a huge freezing room, surrounded by figures in white robes wearing white ww 2 style gas masks._

_he holds up the butcher knife. 'i killed spock. with this knife. he's one of you. so i killed the bastard. and i'm gonna kill all of you too if you don't tell me where my baby is.'_

_he spies a bassinet in the corner, surrounded by curtains. holding the butcher knife he inches toward the screaming baby._

_a hand (one of the figures) is moving the basinette too forcefully._

_'you're moving it too fast,' he tells them. 'it's too fast, don't move it so fast, that's why it's crying.'_

_he's now standing directly adjacent to the basinette. he halts it from swinging. the figure scuttles away, like a huge cockroach._

_still holding the butcher knife, with his free hand he moves the curtain back to get a look at his newborn child. 'child of my body...no matter what...i will love thee,' he utters it like a prayer._

_at the sight, he drops the knife. it sticks blade first into the floor. _

_the baby is wearing a tiny little white gas mask._

_'why's it wearing a mask? why is it wearing a goddamned gas mask?'_

_he reaches out and rips the thing off his baby._

_at the sight underneath his puts his hands up to cover his mouth. a hellish noise emits: 'uggghhhhhhh' that horrible sound from his mouth, morphing into a shriek. 'is that it's face? my god...how can it cry...how can it eat?! my god in heaven, whaat have you done to it, you MANIACS?!" _

_the tiny face is frozen into a horrified frown, like a theatrical 'tragedy' mask._

* * *

"Penny for 'em," Myrtle said, as they strolled under the 'Walk of a Thousand Lights' at the Pike one evening.

"Mmph?"

"Your thoughts. What you thinking about?"

"I was just wondering if Spock liked the supper I put in the icebox for him."

"You cooked dinner at home? But I cooked for you tonight at my place."

"I made a little something for him before I came over."

"Oh." Myrtle pouted until she spotted something in the vicinity. "Look, Leonard!" She pointed.

"Hmm?"

"There's a clown!"

"A clown?" Sure enough, a man dressed as a clown, holding balloons for sale.

"Let's buy a balloon!" Myrtle said.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Clown."

"What's wrong with a clown?" Myrtle tried to drag him along, holding his hand, but he resisted. "Everybody loves clowns!"

"I don't. Look at him. He's evil."

"Are you kidding me? Clowns are happy! Fun! Come on."

"No way."

"Why? Tell me why."

"I don't like 'em."

"Why not?"

"Because...ever heard of coulrophobia? I don't like 'em. I don't trust 'em. You can't gage his real emotions...with all that make-up. It's like a mask. That painted on smile. You can't tell if the guy's happy or ready to murder someone."

_he hangs from the ceiling, in a pain filled haze. till he hears footsteps. something in the shadows. now the figure is before him. a clown. all in white. white wig, white costume, big white clown shoes...all white, except for the make-up. the face: white, except for the painted red smile. the only color. it's striking...the red...against all that white._

_the clown informs him: 'i am here to perform your operation.'_

_the voice, he knows that voice. oddly incongruent with the clown outfit. 'spock? what are you gonna do to me?' he croaks out._

_the clown does not answer, merely comes closer. 'please forgive me.'_

_'what are you going to do, spock?' the question, his voice is now frantic._

_the clown-spock reaches out, grabs hold of his penis with a medical clamp, extending out the soft member. scalpel at the ready._

_he whimpers. 'what you going to do, spock? what are you going to do?'_

_there's tears falling from the clown's face, marring the once perfect white makeup. the white bleeds into the red. 'forgive me.' _

_'please don't...i need that.' he begins to panic. 'that's mine...don't...don't...don't...please... i need that...please...please... don't-'_

"Leonard? Are you crying?"

"No." He reached up, under his glasses, wiping his eyes.

"Are you alright? You're frightening me."

"Baby, let's get out of here."

* * *

On the Pine Avenue Pier, Myrtle stared at the water, licking her lips. "Leonard?"

"Yes?"

"I've been writing to my parents about you."

"All good, I hope."

She giggled. "They want to meet you."

McCoy coughed into his other hand. "Oh. Alright. Perhaps sometime in the-"

"I thought maybe you and I could rent a car at that new rental place that just opened up on Elm, 'Enterprise Rent a Car' and-"

"'Enterprise Rent A Car'?"

"Yes. But you didn't let me finish."

"Their name is 'Enterprise'?"

"Yes, Leonard," she huffed. "Now may I finish?"

"Sorry. Go ahead."

"I thought maybe we'd rent a car, drive up for the weekend to San Francisco and visit my parents. They have a huge house."

He took a breath. "Oh. I don't think...I don't think that would be such a great idea."

"Why not?"

"I just don't."

"Oh. Well, I wasn't expecting for us to actually share a bedroom. I mean, I am a nice girl."

"Huh? What does being nice have to do with sex?"

"Huh?" Myrtle replied.

"Never mind."

They sat silently for long moments. He adjusted his hat and then his glasses.

"They've started shipping the Japs off to the internment camps," Myrtle finally said. "Did you read in the 'Independent' about that?"

McCoy took a deep breath. "Myrtle, what did I tell you?"

"About what?"

"About referring to people of Japanese origin as 'Japs'. It's a racial slur and I don't like it."

"You're the only one who's ever said that."

"Doesn't make me wrong."

"You act like you want them to stay here. Taking all our jobs away!" she said.

"I do want them to stay here. This is their home. They're losing everything. They've done nothing wrong and they're being treated like the enemy."

"They are the enemy," Myrtle insisted.

He yanked his hand out of hers. "No, they're not." He stuffed his hands back into his pockets. "It's late. I think it's about time I took you home." He pushed himself up to stand.

"I'm sorry," Myrtle said. "I shouldn't have said that."

"Myrtle, you can't make it all better with 'sorry'. I'm not that big of a pushover. Come on, I'll take you home."

"I said I was sorry, and I meant it. I won't say 'Japs' anymore. You don't like that. And I won't say it again."

"And why don't I like it?"

"Because it's wrong. And it's unfair and mean."

He sighed, rolled his eyes and sank down onto the bench again. "I guess I am a big pushover." She leaned over to kiss him. "Ohhhh. Fine, fine. You get one more chance." He met her lips once again.

"Leonard?"

"Hmm?"

"Why are you having so much trouble lately getting up and sitting down? And walking, you're walking funny. Like you're in pain."

"Well, you try being pregnant for once and see how you-" He stopped himself.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Myrtle laughed. "It sounded like you said you were pregnant."

"That would be ridiculous, now wouldn't it?"

"It would be like a freak show exhibit: 'See the pregnant man!'"

"Alright, alright. That's enough."

"Are you sick?"

"No."

"Do you have cancer?"

"No."

"Then what's the matter with you?"

"Nothin', I said."

Myrtle folded her arms, a tear running down her face. "You can't even be honest with me. You won't tell me what's wrong! You won't even go meet my parents!"

She yelled that out loud enough so that a couple walking past turned to stare at them. He glared back and they hurried away.

He sighed mightily, turning to face her. "Myrtle, don't cry. I'll tell you the truth. I suppose you're going to find out eventually, so I might as well. That is, if I'm still here by then."

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean, is... I'm pregnant."

She snickered.

"Don't laugh. I am as serious as a heart attack, Sweetheart," he said.

"Men can't get pregnant. That IS ridiculous."

"Listen to me. Spock and I are from the future. We're officers aboard the United Space Ship Enterprise. However, we were taken captive and I was forcibly impregnated...it's a long story how...with a baby. We escaped and somehow found ourselves back in time."

She gaped at him for a few moments. Then she stood up and stormed off down the pier.

"Ohhhh, Jesus Christ," he muttered to himself.

"Stay away from me, Leonard McCoy!" she bellowed out as he followed her. "That is the most insulting, infuriating thing I have ever heard in my life! You? A man? Pregnant?!"

"Keep your voice down," he snapped. "You want the whole town to know?"

"And you expect me to believe that you're a spaceman?! A Martian? Who's stuck back in time? Who do you think you are, H.G. Wells? Get away from me!"

"I never said anything about Martians! What is this century's obsession with Martian's?"

"Stay away from me!" she shrieked.

"I suggest you stay away from from the lady like she asked," a nearby sailor told him.

"I suggest you butt out. This is a private conversation between my girlfriend and I," McCoy snapped.

"I'd punch you in the mouth, Pops, but I got somethin' against hitting people with glasses."

He decided not to push it with the guy and turned to Myrtle. She had disappeared. "Shit! Myrtle?!"

He wandered through the midway, frantically searching.

He walked smack into a huge clown doll. "Ugh!" he said, nearly dying of fright.

Now, everywhere he looked, every clown doll hanging by the neck from amusement doorways...the prizes stared menacingly at him in their creepy little ways, smiling, laughing at him, calling out his name...Leonard McCoy...

He searched for Myrtle for what seemed like an eternity. She was no where to be found. Maybe she had gone home.

He was about to give up the search when he spotted her, sitting mournfully on a bench across from the looming Cyclone Racer, staring at it.

He sat down next to her, a little out of breath after all that rapid walking. "Way to try to kill a man! I've been all over the place looking for you!"

"Pregnant," she hissed. "That's it! That's the biggest load of malarky I've ever heard. It's over, buster!"

He nodded and sighed. "At least let me escort you home, huh? I could never live with myself if anything happened to you."

She stood up. "Fine."

As he managed to get up off the bench, the air raid siren went off. Outside, the sound of it seemed horrifically loud. Earsplitting. Chilling.

_'oh dear god…they're looking for me…they know...'_

He managed to fight his growing terror, cursing under his breath, grabbing her hand. Street lamps and the multitudes of stringed lights overhead suddenly extinguished. "Come on."

"Let go of my hand!"

"Stop it or I'm gonna lose you again in the dark."

The made it part of the way, before they were caught by the 'air raid marshall' directing the throng of wandering pedestrians to the Jergin's Tunnel at the base of the Trust Building on Pine and Ocean.

"Down here, please! Single file! Please take care when going down the steps!"

He froze at the stairs. Overhead was a huge neon sign with an arrow, he could hear the buzzing. "Hell no, I'm not going down there!"

Myrtle, behind him, prodded him gently. "You can't hold up the line."

He nodded, knew she was right, took a deep breath and plunged down into it. The underground dimly lit cavern crossed underneath Ocean Avenue and had an arcade of various-currently shuttered-shops along either side. They were directed to sit down on the tiled floor.

He tried to talk to Myrtle, to keep his rising anxiety at bay. She once again fumed at him, folding her arms.

He picked up her hand, pushed it under his shirt, placing it onto his bare, hard mid section.

She shrieked and pulled her hand away.

"Sorry," he called out sheepishly to the others in the vicinity. "My girlfriend thought she saw a rat."

* * *

Spock was donning his peacoat when the front door opened. "Hi!" McCoy called out, entirely too casually. His eyes appeared completely bloodshot.

"Where have you been? I had been about to attempt to locate you."

"Air raid."

"Yes. Where did you spend it?"

"With Myrtle. In bed."

Spock threw him a icy glance.

"Jesus! Good thing looks don't kill. I'm just kidding. We got caught in the Jergin's Tunnel. Never want to do that again. Why'd you wait till now to come out looking for me?"

"I had hoped you were ensconced someplace safe. After the 'all clear' siren, it had been over an hour and you still had not arrived home."

"Don't tell me you were worried about little ol' me?"

"I was not."

* * *

At the knock at the door, McCoy looked up from: 'The Mrs. Maternity Book': "It's open!"

"Leonard? What are you still doing in bed?" Myrtle asked from the doorway. She strode in, shutting the door behind her, a bundle of clothing in her arms.

"I'm tired! Stayed up all night with you, remember?"

"Here!" She came over to his bedside, sat down and handed him the bundle.

He took them from her. "Clothing?"

"Men's maternity clothes. Carolyn and I sewed all of this."

"Carolyn?" He narrowed his eyes. "You told her?"

"Yeah."

"Dammit! Only you and Carolyn can know my secret. Nobody else."

"Are you really pregnant?"

"Yes. I really am. Here." He pulled up his shirt. "Tell me that doesn't look like an expectant belly to you."

"Can I touch it?"

"Of course."

She did, and gasped. "Oh my God!"

"I told you!"

"So you're... a woman?"

"You mean to ask me," he said, "Do I have a vagina, a birth canal?" She turned beat red at that but nodded. "No. I am most definitely a man. With male parts."

"How are you going to give birth then, with uh...no...opening?"

"C-section."

"How did it get in there in the first place?"

He hesitated. "I'm not ready to talk about that...wasn't exactly fun."

She looked into his eyes, horrified. "I'm sorry."

He gave her a small smile and shrugged.

"So you're a spaceman?"

"Yeah."

"And we're gonna have a baby?" she asked.

"Yes...I suppose so!"

She squealed and hugged him. "This is bizarre! Never thought I'd be a ready made mommy. It's all backwards!"

He pointed at himself. "I'm the mommy."

"You can't be, you're a man."

"I'm carrying the fetus, so I'm the mommy," he insisted.

"Like a seahorse," she declared.

"No...not like a-hey would you like to hear the heartbeat?"

"Sure!" He got up out of bed, retrieved the spyromaniter. He lay back down and flipped up his pygama top. He put the earpieces over her ears. "How'd you get this thing?" she asked.

"Easy, I'm a doctor." He placed the disc on his midsection. "Hear anything? It'll be very fast."

She listened and squealed. "Oh my God! It's real! You're really pregnant! The girls need to hear this!"

He grabbed the spyromaniter away from her, held onto her wrist and pulled her into bed with him. "Just Carolyn, that's it!"

* * *

Spock came home to find a giggly Myrtle and McCoy in bed together, listening to a radio program. Obviously nothing sexual appeared to be going on at this point, however-

"Hi, Spock!"

Spock said nothing as he removed his coat.

"Sweetheart," McCoy said to Myrtle, kissing her. "I think you're gonna have to go on home now. I got to get up and fix Spock his din din."

Jealousy seemed to cloud her features as she rose up from the bed. "Aww, I could cook you both something! You know, I'm a great cook! Something you need in a wife and mother! Oh, right, I forgot, you're the mommy!" She leaned over and gently patted McCoy's belly.

Spock stopped what he was doing, turned around and stared at the doctor.

* * *

"Myrtle's been coming by and massaging my abdomen with baby oil. She says it helps with the stretch marks. It's what she read. I mean I don't care one lick about stretch marks, but she seems to enjoy touching me."

"Indeed."

* * *

_the little girl holds a white umbrella. she's wearing a white dress, a white ribbon in her hair._

_'bye bye spaceman!' she says._

_he waves. 'bye bye.'_

* * *

Yet another air raid siren, this time at the stroke of midnight.

Carolyn and Myrtle, of course, came again to call upon them. After an hour of socializing via candlelight, Carolyn had managed to corner Spock in the kitchen in conversation.

"You know what I read, today in the newspaper, Spock?" She played with her blond hair.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" he asked her.

"That's all you have to drink around here, is tea?"

"Herbal tea, to be precise. Or water."

"I'll have tea." He made the tea while he listened to her ask: "Did you know Long Beach was built on ancient Indian village?"

The black-out candle suddenly flickered on the kitchen counter. "No, I did not."

"Yeah...it scared the crap out of me, what I read. Bixby Park, they say, has a portal to another dimension discovered by these Indians."

He stared at her, raising an eyebrow. "Bixby Park?"

"Yeah, it's haunted. Supposedly. The ancient village was called 'Puvuguna'. The ancient Indians built things like pyramids to harness the power of the other dimension. So nowadays, people in Bixby Park late at night have witnessed odd visions, like...white figures…ghosts or some mysterious fire. Sometimes in the middle of the night, a blanket of thick fog covers the whole park and if you listen close, you can hear screaming."

A thump of anti-aircraft fire reverberated throughout the building. The candle blew out throwing them into pitch blackness.

Carolyn gasped and slid her arms around him.

He moved her over and reached with his other hand to fetch the matches on the counter. He struck the match to re-light the candle. Carolyn was just tall enough that her cheek caressed his chin, he felt her breath against his neck, then her her lips slid against his. He moved slightly away from her. "Perhaps the doctor needs his candle re-lit."

"I'm sure they're fine in the other room," Carolyn whispered back, holding onto his waist tightly. "In the dark."

He again removed himself from her clutches. He picked up the candle and went into the living area.

McCoy was in bed with Myrtle. Both were fully clothed and asleep, wrapped around each other.

"Awww!" Carolyn whispered. "How adorable!"

The 'all clear' siren sounded.

Spock moved to the bed but Carolyn halted him. "Leave 'em like that, Spock. We'll go back to my place."

He pointedly ignored that and shook the other girl awake. "Myrtle, it is time for you to go home."

* * *

_they're completely frozen in place, on the shuttlecraft._

_'spock...what's happening?'_

_'i do not know.'_

_three figures suddenly appear, white masks, white robes, white gloves. they scan them with some type of device.'_

_'who are you and what do you want with us?' he hears spock demand._

_they do not answer._

_instead they feel the sick sensation of some type of transporter beam, the feeling much different than what he's used to, the shuttle dissolving around them._

* * *

"Bixby Park is haunted," Spock said as McCoy placed his breakfast in front of him. "Carolyn mentioned it. I did some further research at the library."

"Haunted?"

"White figures, screaming, vortex like colors. There was an ancient native american village on this very location. Bixby Park is built upon their burial grounds. The ancients spoke in their songs of a portal in the vicinity and utilized the area by building stone pyramids to harvest the energy emitted."

"Stone pyramids? Here in Long Beach?"

"Indeed."

"So you're saying, there's a connection-that might be our portal?"

"Quite possibly."

"Are our captors ancient Native Americans? Maybe they're time travelers?"

"I do not believe so. The Native Americans in this village were a peaceful, farming community. However, they were aware of the portal's location. The captors might have been abducting Earth humans from very early on, how early I do not know. This is pure speculation of course."

"What happened to the village?"

"The entire population disappeared."

"They were abducted, Spock."

"It does appear as if that might have been the case."

"A whole village? Gone? Just like that?"

"I am afraid that there are no definitive answers as to where they went."

"The captors took them. They must have. And they keep abducting humans. They're covering it up, in historical context. Like the mass 'evacuation of the Japanese people'. Even the 'draft', that could be them!"

"We have no solid proof. That very well may be the US Government's doing. There is a war going on."

"Aren't we gonna…do somethin'?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know...we can't just sit back on our laurels and watch this all happen!"

"As isolated as you and I are-as helpless-we have no manpower. You are in a delicate condition. We can do nothing, until we are rescued."

McCoy stormed off to the bathroom, slamming the door. Moments later he reopened the door, poking his head around. "I don't like it, Commander! Not one goddamned bit! This wait and see, decision of yours-"

"It is my decision. And I say, wait for the Captain."

"We'll be waiting for rest of our lives, Spock! Then what? Everyone will be gone! Earth is in danger! Humans are being taken by them! That's what you want? Then when the captors have had their fun with the Earthlings, they'll move on, to the nearest inhabited star, 40 Eridani, to Vulcan. That make you happy?"

* * *

ON TO THE NEXT PART...


	6. March

**MARCH**

"Are you nearly finished?" Spock stood at the doorway in his underwear, calmly stepping into his grey wool trousers. He pulled them up and over his hips, buttoning them. A 78 record played on the phonograph:

**'Old rocking chair's got me,**

**'cane by my side,**

**'fetch me that Gin son, **

**'fore I tan your hide.**

**I can't get from this cabin,**

**i ain't goin' nowhere**

**just sit me here grabbin,**

**at the flies round this rockin' chair.**

**my dear old aunt harriet**

**how long in heaven you been**

**send me sweet chariot**

**for the end of these troubles i've seen**

**old rockin' chair, he get it, he get it**

**judgement day is here**

**chained to my rockin' chair.**

McCoy opened up a jar that Spock had never seen before, dipped two fingers into it and smeared a small amount onto his face. "Almost. Hang on."

"We are running late."

"Oh…now all of a sudden you're worried about being late for our date with the girls."

Spock donned his freshly laundered striped white and blue shirt—the starch was extremely pungent but not at all unpleasant—and began buttoning it. "I have never liked being tardy for anything. It is most unbecoming."

"That shirt looks good on you," McCoy informed him.

"Hurry up, Dr. McCoy."

"Just a goddamned minute, I have to pee." McCoy whipped off his towel to reveal his huge stomach.

Spock stared at the man in his seventh month of pregnancy. "Your size is increasing."

McCoy blushed. "Are you actually going to stand there and watch me urinate?"

"Negative, Doctor." Spock stepped into the living room to give the man some semblance of privacy.

McCoy flushed the toilet and waddled out of the bathroom, stark naked. "I can't even see my own genitalia anymore."

Spock made a small face of disgust. "Is that important?"

"It should be... to a normal human male. Look," McCoy directed Spock's attention to his midsection, close to the prominent belly button. "Look at the little foot sticking out."

Spock looked. "Fascinating."

"Touch it. The kid moves it's foot when I touch it."

Spock recoiled.

"Come on. Touch it. It's not gonna bite ya."

Spock lay his hand on the hard abdomen. The foot sunk in, then kicked against him. He jerked his hand back.

"Sorry," McCoy said. "I can tell this is uncomfortable for you. You're not used to seeing a fellow officer turn all gooey and maternal, are you."

"It is quite alright."

"Spock, flip the record over, will ya. You can't leave it in the runnout grove like that. Not good for the needle."

"Acknowledged, Dr. McCoy." Spock went over to the phonograph. And flipped it over to 'Stardust':

**"Sometimes i wonder**

**why spend a lonely night,**

**dreaming of a song.**

**The melody**

**haunts my reverie**

**and i am once again with you**

**when our love was new**

**and each kiss an inspiration**

**Oh but that was long ago**

**now my consolation**

**is the in the stardust of the song**

**besides the garden wall**

**when stars are bright,**

**you are in my arms**

**the nightingale**

**tells his fairytale**

**of paradise where roses grew**

**though i dream in vain**

**in my heart it will remain**

**my stardust melody**

**the melody of love,**

**refrain..."**

McCoy stood listening. "Beautiful. Just like Myrtle. No wonder it's our song."

"Doctor, I urge you to hurry up and get dressed, the girls are expecting us."

McCoy made his way over to the small chest of drawers, opened the top one, pulling out a pair of boxer shorts. "Which ones are mine and which ones are yours?"

"That particular pair is yours."

"Does it matter?"

"Not really."

"Good." McCoy sat down on the bed with a groan. "Let's see if I can do this…" He tried to hike up the underwear onto his hips. Spock went over and wordlessly pulled them up. "Thanks." Spock then put the trousers on the man and finally the shirt, helping him to tuck it in.

"Would you like some assistance with your tie?"

"Sure, if you don't mind," McCoy said. Spock quickly tied it, in a precise windsor knot, as he did so he noticed an unusual fragrance emanating from McCoy. He sniffed at it. "What?" McCoy asked him. "Oh…the aftershave. Like it?"

The scent proved extremely pleasant, however he was not going to inform the doctor of such. He simply shrugged.

"Myrtle bought it for me." McCoy toed on his shoes. Spock knelt down and tied them. "Thanks," he said again, sheepishly.

They went to the door, pulling their coats out of the closet.

"Wait," McCoy said. "Forgot the phonograph."

"I shall take care of it." Spock went over to the phonograph, pulled the needle arm up, moved it over. It slowed to a stop. He picked up 'stardust' off the spindle.

The 78 suddenly flew out of his hands. It hit the floor and shattered.

Spock eyed the wreckage, horrified.

He bent down to pick up the pieces then met McCoy's eyes.

"It's alright, Spock. Come on, lets go."

* * *

"I wish we could go on it!" Myrtle pointed up at the Cyclone Racer.

McCoy smiled. "Spock, how about taking Myrtle and Carolyn on that thing?"

"No way, not me," Carolyn protested.

"Alright, then Spock, would you kindly accompany Myrtle on the Cyclone?"

Myrtle practically jumped with excitement.

"I'll be watching," McCoy told her. "Have fun but be careful, will ya?"

Myrtle leaned over to give McCoy a kiss and patted his belly, even with the trench coat it was prominent. "You're getting so big."

"I know, Honey."

Myrtle kissed him again, then again. "I love you."

McCoy hesitated for a moment, then grinned. "I love you, too."

Spock cleared his throat.

McCoy looked up. "Hmph? Oh…I guess somebody's getting impatient." McCoy waved as he stood with Carolyn and watched Spock head off towards the entrance to the cyclone.

* * *

_'bye bye, spaceman!' the little girl says, clad all in white._

_'bye, bye!' he says._

_she waves then jumps directly in the path of an oncoming red line tram…._

_'oh god no!'_

* * *

Spock opened his eyes. He found himself lying on the bed, sprawled, and in severe discomfort. He lifted up an arm, then the other-both were covered in bruises. He felt his face, cuts. His mouth was dry. He bolted upright.

A hand was on his chest, pushing him back down. "Don't get up."

The last thing Spock remembered was the Cyclone Racer, sitting in the red metal carriage, the ride beginning its ascent... "What happened?"

"There was an accident. You were injured. No broken bones, just several cuts and some severe contusions, but you've been out a couple days."

"Days?" Spock sat up again but McCoy pushed him back down again.

"You're also concussed, so get your ass back down."

"My employment."

"Don't worry about that right now."

"How did you get me up here?"

"Up the stairs?" There was a snort from McCoy. "Carolyn."

"The both of you carried me up the stairs?"

"You helped out. Walked. We simply guided you. Now...at least I'm convinced you're really you."

"Pardon?"

"Uh, Carolyn knows you're a Vulcan. It was a little difficult to hide the truth from her, being as you were bleeding green profusely and you'd lost your hat and she wondered about those big pointy ears. She told me to tell you they're very attractive."

Spock felt as if he was missing some important detail, it was difficult to remember, hazy, and then it hit him. "Myrtle. I had accompanied her. I was sitting next to her."

"That's right, Mr. Spock." Spock felt a newspaper being placed onto his chest, he looked down, held the paper close to his face and read the headline:

**"Deadly Coaster Accident Claims One."**

**Myrtle Lundgren, 30, was killed Friday Night when the Cyclone Racer car shot off its tracks. Five others were injured. Two sailors injured in the crash were reported in good condition aboard the Navy Hospital Ship Haven. They are seamen Joseph L. DuPlantis, 17, Dallas R. Clark, 18, both of the USS Ranger. Each suffered a fractured leg when the front car they were riding tore loose from the front car. Three other injured sailors—Sidney Thilbodeax 20, Fred B. Downs 20, and James Edward Miller 20 all of the USS Ranger, have had emergency surgery at St. Mary's Hospital. Other riders suffered cuts, bruises. The rest were shaken up but not injured."**

**It was the first mishap caused by the mechanical failure in many years. Other fatalities have occurred because passengers have stood up or taken other unnecessary risks."**

"She's dead, Spock."

Spock looked over at McCoy, now sitting down on the edge of the bed, staring vacantly out the window. "I grieve with thee."

"Yes." McCoy looked down at his hands. "I know." The doctor took a deep breath. "Something came in the mail for you." He handed over the letter. "From your place of employment."

Spock tore open the envelope. He pulled out the piece of paper and read it: "I have been discharged."

"Fired?"

"Yes. No reason given."

"The fact that you missed two days work might be the reason."

"My income is crucial. How are we going to pay our rent?"

"I dunno, Spock. Let's worry about that later. Rest now." McCoy stood up, his face dull and expressionless. "I'll be in the kitchen, if you need me."

* * *

_spaceman_

_won't you come play with me_

_before i go to sleep_

_spaceman_

_sing me a lullaby_

_sing it fast_

_for i shall die before i wake_

_i can see him_

_ready to kiss me _

_goodnight_

* * *

Four days later, McCoy found himself sitting in a pew at First Congregational Church on the corner of Cedar and 3rd streets at ten o clock on a rainy March morning, his hat in his lap. A sobbing Carolyn sat sandwiched in between him and Spock.

The last time he'd ever been in a church, a real Earth religious institution like this one, was his wedding day at the University of Mississippi Chapel. 30 years ago. His father died about two years later, be didn't attend his father's funeral, in fact he had lost his own newly awarded medical license for a short while because he'd... killed the man himself. It was a mercy killing, the man was dying, in pain, begging him...he was found 'not guilty' but it was still patricide.

He shifted in his seat. The hardness of the wooden pew began to feel uncomfortable, made his back hurt. The baby kicked vigorously inside him every few moments. He rubbed his hand on his belly in an attempt to calm the kid and he had to pee, but he didn't dare move. He'd been the one to comfort Carolyn, the poor girl. Making it very obvious that he was reaching out, hoping she'd lean on him instead of Spock.

The Vulcan appeared like a stone, even more stoic than usual, which meant he was heavily shielding and barely handling being in this close lengthy proximity with someone in such an emotional state. Were McCoy to get up to use the men's room-and his bladder was killing him-Carolyn would understandably seek affection and comfort from Spock. She wouldn't be familiar with his touch telepathy and right now staying put seemed the single most compassionate act he could do for the Vulcan.

He'd been to plenty of remembrance services before on board the Enterprise. He and Spock, both had. Many of them kids fresh out of the academy. Him barely knowing them, until they wound up dead in his sickbay from one ill-fated mission or attack or another.

However, this particular funeral seemed distinctly unreal. Maybe it was because of how formal it appeared and therefore theatrical, even more so than a Starfleet service. Both he and Spock wore the best suits they owned, with black ties. Carolyn wore black from head to toe, replete with a black velvet pillbox hat with black mesh over the face. In fact all the women in the church were dressed similarly.

He (and Carolyn and Spock) sat in the 'family only' section, invited by Myrtle's parents to do so. It seemed so awkward but they obligingly went where the usher had directed them.

Before the service had started, he'd expressed his condolences to her parents who'd driven down from Northern California, told them how much he cared about her, which was true, he did, she was a lovely girl, but still the whole scene seemed dreamlike.

He had the odd, sinking feeling that perhaps this whole town was in fact only a figment of his imagination and he was still in the hands of his captors.

For some reason, he couldn't conjure up the appropriate sadness at her death. Maybe he was in shock. Numb. That's it. That's what he felt. Simply numb. So, as he was in his stupor, instead of really paying attention during the service, he found himself looking around, noticing the wood panelling everywhere, the smell of pine, the squeaking of everybody's shoes. All the uncomfortable coughing that goes on in a place like this, during a time like this. Studying the stained glass windows depicting a lamb and a lion. Noting the bouffant purple and black velvet robes on the minister. Staring at the beautiful pine casket decorated with flowers. Marveling at the huge organ pipes with the beautiful sound. Listening to Spock's rather fetching baritone voice singing the hymns. Clutching Carolyn's hand or letting her cry on his shoulder. Wondering where the hell Jim was...

Where in the hell was Jim, anyway? Goddamn it, if he WAS coming, why didn't he hurry up?

Maybe if he pleaded with God...

How in the shit could they ever be traced to this time and place? It's not like they came through the Guardian of Forever. It seemed impossible.

Jim and the Enterprise and Starfleet was gone and 2269 was now just a random number and home really didn't exist anymore. This was it for him and Spock. They would stay here to live out their days.

Speaking of days. His were numbered too. He'd wind up in a pine box shortly, just like Myrtle. He most likely wouldn't survive the birth. Spock would be saddled with this baby. Long Beach was home for the Vulcan now. Imagine how lonely he will be, never able to travel back to his own planet, his own people-

He choked on that thought, suddenly found himself tearing up. He drew his hand back from Carolyn, pulled off his glasses and wiped his eye. A combination sigh and sob burst forth from his lips.

Carolyn gave him a small sympathetic smile, whispered an "Aw," and pulled his face down into her shoulder. Somehow, at this very moment, crying seemed so easy.

After the service-and after he finally was able to dart into the men's room, relieve himself and pull himself together-it seemed everyone was piling into cars. Spock raised his eyebrow in a silent question.

"Gravesite," McCoy muttered helpfully.

"Look," Carolyn said, pointing.

A gothic style horse drawn hearse stood by, as the casket-Myrtle's casket-was loaded onto it. "Spock," he whispered. "Don't do that to me. Make sure you cremate my ass and throw my ashes into the Pacific."

Carolyn slapped him on the shoulder, giving him the stink-eye.

Suddenly Myrtle's parents had appeared in front of him, offering to take him with them to the gravesite in their limousine. He glanced over at Spock, feeling lost, unsure of what he should do.

Spock reached over and grabbed his hand for an instant.

"I guess I'll meet you two there, huh?" McCoy said.

He sat in between Myrtle's father and mother in the large black car. The father glanced at him quizzically when he had some difficulty getting into the car. "Are you alright, Son?"

"Yes, thank you."

The car took off, slowly, following the horse drawn carriage, down American Avenue, to 10th street, then to Willow then Orange Avenue, halting at the 'Long Beach Municipal Cemetery' a fair distance away. Myrtle's mother sniffled into her lace hanky while Myrtle's father studied McCoy.

"Myrtle often wrote about you," the father said.

"Did she?"

"Yes, it's a shame we couldn't have met you, before now. She was quite taken with you. We're glad she had nice friends," the father glanced across McCoy and at the mother, dabbling at her tears, for an instant, "we were very nervous about letting her move down to Long Beach."

"She had a lot of good friends," McCoy replied. "She was very sweet."

"Yes."

McCoy coughed into his fist.

"Who was that man?" the father asked, suddenly.

McCoy looked out of the window. "Which man?"

"The man you were talking to. He grabbed your hand."

"Oh. You mean my roommate? He grabbed my hand? I hadn't noticed."

"Yes. I thought, perhaps you two were-"

"What?"

"Jack," the mother hissed.

At the gravesite service, McCoy found himself being treated like the goddamned widower, sitting right next to the parents in the front row.

Afterwards, he found Spock and Carolyn. "Let's get the hell out of here."

The three walked out to Willow Street where Spock hailed a cab.

"You're very good at that," McCoy noted.

Spock shrugged.

The taxi let them out at the corner of Pine and Broadway. Spock paid the fare and the three of them began walking in the direction of the Sovereign Apartments under the black umbrella. A light drizzle began to fall.

"What time is it, Sweetheart?"

Carolyn looked at her watch. "Two thirty."

"No wonder I'm starving."

"Well, you would be." She patted his belly. "I can cook some lunch for us."

"No, no. You don't have to do that. Don't use up your rations. Spock, we got enough money for some lunch, someplace?"

"As long as it is reasonably inexpensive."

They sat side by side at the Woolworth's counter, completely silent. Spock barely touched his food, neither did Carolyn. McCoy gobbled his down. Spock and Carolyn glanced at each other, then pushed both their plates over to McCoy.

"No, no. You two eat."

They both shook their heads.

It was pouring rain by the time they made it back to the Sovereign. In the lobby, they passed by the grand piano. McCoy stopped short and sat down on the bench. "I need to rest for a moment before going up those stairs."

Carolyn chuckled and sat down in a chair across from him.

McCoy lifted up the piano guard and idly plunked a few keys.

Spock sat down next to him. He studied it for a moment, then played the intro to: "The Entertainer".

McCoy hissed: "No. Didn't come out till nineteen seventy three."

Spock shook his head. "You are thinking of 'The Sting'. This was written nineteen oh two, to be precise." He continued to play for a few more bars.

"Spock," McCoy warned.

"I didn't know you could play, Spock!" Carolyn called over.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Anytime he can find himself a piano."

"Pretty song. Keep playing!"

Spock looked over at McCoy and kept playing.

"Goddamned show off. You heard the lady! Keep playing!"

The song over, Spock then began to play the opening to 'Imagine.' by John Lennon.

McCoy reached over and slammed the key guard down. Spock pulled his fingers out before they could become crushed. "You're not very damned funny!" McCoy hissed.

"What song was that?" Carolyn asked.

"Never mind!" McCoy glared at Spock. "You gonna behave?" He yanked the key guard back up.

Obviously not, as Spock now played: 'Good Day Sunshine' by the Beatles.

"Asshole," McCoy muttered under his breath. "Carolyn!" he said, louder. "Requests please!"

"Play 'Stardust'!" Carolyn called out.

Spock glanced over. McCoy nodded.

As Spock played 'Stardust', a few people who'd come in out of the rain sat down to watch.

Next he played: 'The Minute Waltz'. A few more people came in out of the rain and sat down. Soon, the crowd began yelling out requests. There were popular songs of the day requested that Spock obviously wasn't familiar with but he still managed to entertain the people with the ones he did know such as "Fur Elise" and "Maple Leaf Rag".

Spock then played: 'Ideale'.

McCoy shook his head.

_he finds the doctor in the lab, hunched over the microscope, music playing._

_'it's called 'ideale',' the doctor informs him, looking up from the slide. 'music helps me concentrate. this is an ancient earth love song, so i wouldn't expect your vulcan ears to appreciate it.'_

_'doctor,' spock replies. he sets down his padd and joins the man at the table, "i was already aware of the name of the piece."_

_'sure you were.'_

After an hour and a half, Spock finished his final song and stood. The gathered audience applauded. Spock glanced around, raising an eyebrow.

McCoy got himself off the bench with Carolyn following. The three walked toward the stairs.

Suddenly a man halted Spock with a hand on his arm. "Mighty fine piano playing, Son."

"Thank you."

The man handed over a business card. "My club is hiring a piano player, if you're interested."

* * *

"Spock," McCoy suddenly murmured later in bed.

"Yes, Doctor?"

"Why'd you touch my hand, like that?"

"Pardon?"

"Earlier today, at the funeral. Men don't usually touch like that, not in public."

"I see humans shaking hands all of the-"

"No, you touched me like this." McCoy reached over and grabbed onto his hand. "It was a little more intimate than a handshake. The reason I mention it is that Myrtle's dad had a problem with it. He was kind of a jerk, daughter's funeral and he's worried about two men grabbing hands."

"I do not recall touching you in that manner." Spock pulled his hand away.

"You don't recall doing this?" McCoy reached over and grabbed onto Spock's hand again and stroked Spock's wrist with his thumb.

"Stop." Spock yanked his hand away. "If I did as you suggest, it was merely an attempt to comfort you, nothing more than that."

"Well, Myrtle's dad...he thought you and I were...uh...you know, a couple. Thought maybe I was cheating on Myrtle, with you. What is he said, 'Queer'. Can you believe that? Just from you touching my hand."

"Forgive me. I had not meant to cause any upset."

"So you do remember doing it."

"Negative. However, in future, I shall refrain from any type of physical contact with you."

"I don't mind, really. Honestly, I don't. I never had you pegged as being the affectionate type, anyway. I mean, you keep your distance from Carolyn-"

"That is none of your concern."

"Spock, I'm not trying to...I don't know, she uh..."

Spock sat up.

"Where you going?" McCoy asked.

"To answer the call of my biological functions, please go back to sleep."

* * *

Spock exited the bathroom and went into the kitchen to find the doctor now there, the light on. "Why are you not sleeping?"

"I need my bedwarmer."

"That is enough. You have work in the morning. I urge you to rest."

"Can't." McCoy turned over two mugs, turned on the water, filling up the kettle. The baby's kicking me. Baby goes crazy at night. Want some herbal tea?"

Spock down heavily on the kitchen chair. "Sure."

"Sure? That's not your normal vernacular...what's the matter?"

Spock shook his head. "Nothing."

McCoy flipped the burner to on and watched it flicker. "We're low on kerosene, dammit. I forgot to mention it to you earlier."

Spock nodded and got from from his chair.

"Where are you going?"

"To fetch some kerosene in the basement."

"At 2am?"

"You wish to have some tea, do you not? Now is as good a time as any."

"But it's dangerous down there."

"It is the basement of our apartment building. That is where the kerosene is located." Spock pulled his peacoat out of the closet.

"You're going down in your pygamas and a coat? Shouldn't you at least put some pants on?"

"I shall be right back."

Spock moved down the dimly lit, rather sinister looking corridor, it's mauve flowers casting odd shapes.

He made as far as the still 'out of order' elevator, when he heard the cry. McCoy.

He ran back to the door, shoved the key into the lock, opened it as fast as he could. He looked in the kitchen, saw the man not there, he noticed the light on in the bathroom. "Doctor? Are you in labor?"

"No, Spock! Look at that!" McCoy pointed at the floor. Sitting there was a white, six legged creature, about four inches long, two inches wide, with a pair of antennae.

_he screams..._

_he's in a coffin like box, covered in pure white cockroaches…'oh dear god…get off of me!' _

_a captor, dressed entirely in white, stands at the foot of the coffin-_

"Doctor."

"Kill it!" McCoy screeched, by now hyperventilating and rooted in spot. "Find something to kill it with. Where's a shoe...? Go to the idiot next door and get that can of DDT!"

"Doctor, it is 2am. The man is probably asleep. You and I have never killed a single creature infesting this unit. Please fetch me an empty glass jar from the kitchen."

The creature did not move. McCoy did, finally backing out for a few moments and returning with the container. "Here." He thrust it it at Spock.

"Go sit on the bed and control your breathing."

With McCoy out of the way, Spock scooped up the creature into the jar and put the lid on, tightening it. He came out into the living area. "I have captured the specimen."

McCoy's head was in his hands. He was visibly shaking. "Goddamn. That is the biggest fucking cockroach I've ever seen. Even bigger than the ones in Georgia or Florida or Mississippi."

Spock set the jar down on the nightstand. He studied the man curiously. "Doctor?"

"What are you doing? Flush that thing down the toilet, Spock! Don't leave it here for me to look at!"

"Doctor." Spock reached out, attempting to touch his arm.

"No! Go wash your hands!"

Spock sighed, went into the bathroom, doing as McCoy ordered. He returned to find McCoy still sitting on the bed, but now staring out into nothingness. "Dr. McCoy."

"Are you gonna do something with that... thing? Or do I have to go get the DDT myself?!"

"You and I have engaged in mutual detailed study of many creatures across the universe. Much larger, more frightening and deadly than this ordinary Earth household pest."

"Feels like a lifetime ago."

"It has only been seven months, approximately."

McCoy whispered, barely audible: "Seven months too long. I want to go home. I want to go home."

Spock studied the creature in the jar then looked over at McCoy. He touched the man's wrist, found the man to be experiencing an extremely raw emotion, not sadness, but fear. "What is it you are afraid of?"

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"Doctor."

"Stop calling me that."

"Why?"

"I'm not a doctor anymore. Not even a...scientist. I'm nothing. I can't practice, can't do anything. Reading any sort of medical journal upsets me. These goddamned butchers. I'm useless here. Couldn't even save my girlfriend from dying. Worried more about a stupid cockroach instead of mourning Myrtle's death, like she should be mourned."

They sat in silence for a few moments.

"Doctor, what is the order of this species? I am afraid I am at a loss."

"What? That's easy. Blattaria. You outta your vulcan mind? Why would you forget something like that?"

"And the family?"

"You don't know?"

"The family?"

McCoy raised an eyebrow. "Blattidae."

"The Genus?"

"Periplaneta."

"Species?"

McCoy stared directly into his eyes. "Americana."

"So this insect is Periplaneta Americana."

"That's right."

"Doctor, that IS all it is."

McCoy snorted and glanced down at Spock's hand on his wrist. "You're right. That is all it is. Periplaneta Americana Blanco."

"The creature certainly appears to be molting."

McCoy shook his head. "I don't think so. I believe that is a true albino periplaneta americana. Extremely rare, especially in this localle."

"It is molting," Spock said, in disagreement.

"Spock, look at it! A molting periplaneta would have a nearly transparent body shell. Not a solid white matt body. That, my dear Mr. Spock, is an example of a true albino."

Spock scoffed. "Negative."

"We've studied many a molting creature! Look at it! That's not molting."

"How long does a molt process take for this particular creature?" Spock of course, knew the answer, but he wanted McCoy to tell him.

"An hour... approximately."

"I propose that we have a cup of tea, wait an approximate hour, then see the result."

"Find out if it grows into the exo or not?"

"Affirmative."

"Well, make sure that fucking lid is on tight. And you still have to go down to the basement to get the goddamned kerosene."

"Is there not some other beverage we could drink?"

"Nope."

* * *

"Careful, your tea's hot." McCoy took a sip of his own. "You gonna take that pianist job?"

"No."

"Why not? You play really well. We could really use the money."

"First thing tomorrow, I shall look for a new job."

"Why not play piano? You seem to enjoy it."

"Not in a nightclub for money." Spock held up the jar containing the creature. "It appears I was mistaken."

"An albino cockroach. Jesus fuck." McCoy stared at it, wide eyed. "Now get rid of it."

"Aren't albino cockroaches rare on Earth?"

"Exceedingly rare, Mr. Spock. Now please, get it out of here. Take it outside. I can't stand looking at it."

* * *

"How much money we got here?"

Spock studied the stack of one dollar bills. "Twenty three dollars and fifty cents."

"Fuck...we're a dollar short on rent. Goddamnit, I hope they accept it a dollar short. You take it downstairs to the landlord since you're the one who won't take that piano job."

"I refuse to play piano for money. It is unbecoming."

"Fuck your goddamned Vulcan pride! We're short on rent! Do you understand that?! We're gonna be out on our asses! You haven't been able to find anything else!" McCoy screeched out.

Spock folded his arms. "I shall redouble my efforts to find a suitable place of employment."

McCoy scrunched up his face. "Why won't anybody hire you?"

* * *

"You belong in an internment camp."

"Madame, no one belongs in an internment camp," Spock informed the woman who glared at him, arms folded. "And, I am not Japanese."

"Coulda fooled me! Get out of here before I call the police!"

He walked outside, crossed out yet another job prospect off his list.

* * *

"Pawn my ring again," McCoy told him.

"Negative."

"Pawn it! Better yet, sell the damned thing! Ring doesn't mean a goddamned thing to me, anyhow."

"As you said, the ring belonged to your late mother."

"I made that up. It's meaningless. Sell it! We need the money, Spock. We're desperate! Rent is nearly due again. What are you waiting for?! Sell it."

"I will not."

"Dammit!" McCoy lunged at him, trying to pry the ring off Spock's pinky. Spock batted him away. "If you won't I will!"

Spock grabbed his coat.

"Where you goin?"

"I suppose to pawn your ring." He opened the door and went out.

He got down to the bottom of the stairs before he pulled out the card from the gentleman. "Hollywood Nightclub Piano Bar."

To do what was necessary, was logical. It may be unbecoming, piano in a nightclub, but it was indeed necessary.

He sighed and shoved the card back into his pocket.

* * *

ON TO THE NEXT PART


	7. April

**APRIL**

**Long Beach Independent-editorial**

**Almost daily we read of moves under consideration for the additional taxing of wages, enforced savings deducted from paychecks and a multitude of methods to absorb excess money fthe worker is supposed to have. The vast majority of our people are not making enough money now to enable them to devote any surplus over a bare subsitence and with the increased cost of living they are actually worse off at this time then they were a year ago.**

* * *

McCoy announced to the last riders of the carousel: "Okay kids. 11 o' clock, last ride."

The three drunk servicemen riding the thing complained: "Awlll," but sauntered off and away. He began closing down the ride for the night.

"Wait a moment! Wait!" A young woman, with dark curly hair ran up. "Can I ride?"

"I'm sorry, but—" McCoy halted. She looked very familiar. "Where'd you come from?"

"Oh, the song and dance theatre over there."

You're the girl…" McCoy, said, transfixed. "From the Wizard of Oz. You're Dorothy, aren't you?"

"Yeah, yeah, don't say it so loud, want a mob scene?"

"Sorry." He flipped the carousel back to 'on'. "Climb aboard, my dear."

She gave a delighted smile and clambered onto a horse. "I'm Judy. Nice to meet ya." She held out her hand.

He took it. "Leonard. Likewise."

He watched as she squealed happily, going round and round on the carousel as the steam calliope played: 'Over the Rainbow'.

"You deliberately made it play that song!" she shouted.

"Course I did," McCoy shot back. "It's your song. Get the golden ring!" he said, pointing. "Then you get a free ride!"

"You already gave me a free ride."

"Then you get another one."

She reached for it. "I got it!"

She went round and round again until the ride stopped. "Thanks! I owe you one, Leonard. I haven't been able to do something like that in a long, long while." She listened some more to the calliope.

"Sing some of it, for me, will you?" he asked.

"You realize how many people ask me to do that? Okay, for you, I will."

**"Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high**

**There's a land that I heard of, once in a lullaby**

**Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue**

**And the dreams that you dare to dream, really do come true.**

**"Someday I'll wish upon a star**

**And wake up where the clouds are far behind me.**

**Where troubles melt like lemon drops away above the chimney tops**

**That's where you'll find me.**

**Somewhere over the rainbow, bluebirds fly.**

**Birds fly over over the rainbow, why then, oh why, can't I?**

**If happy little bluebirds fly, beyond the rainbow**

**Why, oh why, can't I?"**

McCoy smiled. "Wonderful."

"Where you from?" she asked. "You don't sound like you're from around here."

"I'm from someplace far far away," he replied. "I'm waiting to get home. Just like you in your movie."

"There's no place like home, right?"

"Right. There's no place like home." McCoy watched as Judy jumped off of the carousel, waved at him then disappeared into the night.

He closed up the carousel and was making his way down the midway of the Pike, when he suddenly spotted a young man, probably aged about twenty one, walking past him. Their eyes met. McCoy gasped.

The young man…looked exactly like him. Well, looked like a young version of himself.

The kid was surrounded by servicemen in green, and blue. Ghostly illuminated by the street lamps, then he was gone.

The hum of the neon sign blinking "Long Beach Pike" buzzed loudly, almost screamed in McCoy's ears and he felt dizzy.

He spotted a sinister looking clown doll, seemed to be laughing at him. Chilling. He turned away. All thoughts on getting home.

He stopped. Another figure, standing directly in front of him, clad entirely in a white robe. White gas mask.

It pointed at him.

Everything else whizzed past in double time but the figure only moved in slow motion.

He barely felt the punch before he collapsed onto the cold, hard ground.

"Doctor wake up." He knew that voice.

McCoy opened his eyes. "Spock," he managed.

Spock was kneeling down next to him. A policeman stood over them. The sounds of the Pike, were loud, a crowd had formed, watching. McCoy's body ached from head to toe. He felt like he was covered in contusions. Felt like a black eye forming. Nothing seemed to be broken. His glasses were missing. The baby—he felt his hard, rounded stomach…baby still there...

"I've arrested the sailors responsible for this," the policeman told Spock. "Turned them over to their commanding officer to deal with."

"Sailors?" McCoy mumbled, faintly. "Responsible for what?"

"Knocking you down and robbing you. I've recovered your wallet. All the money is gone. I'll have to write up a report." The policeman handed it over to Spock. "He's in shock. He looks like he's just seen a ghost."

"Spock…" McCoy whispered. "What about the—?" He stopped himself.

"Everything is fine. Are you able to travel?"

"Gonna have to help me out."

"Acknowledged."

"Sure you don't want to go to a hospital?" The policeman sounded oddly far away, as if from the top of a hill. "You're in bad shape."

"We do not live too far away, I can look after him at home," McCoy heard Spock tell the man.

"Alright, if you say so."

* * *

_'bye bye…spaceman…'_

* * *

McCoy opened his eyes and sat up on his elbows. "Spock?"

"Here." Spock came into his field of vision, albeit blurry.

"How long have I been out?" he croaked.

"Twelve hours."

"Time is it?"

"Twenty three past six in the evening. How are you feeling?"

"I'm alright. Just need to use the bathroom."

Spock nodded and helped him up. McCoy groaned, staggered over and checked himself out in the mirror, noting the black eye and the other contusions on his arms and legs. "Jesus." He sat down heavily on the toilet. "Spock?"

"Yes?"

"Is the baby doing okay? Did you check, while I was unconscious?"

"You were asleep, not unconscious and the child appears to be fine." The Vulcan seemed to be busy, moving around the apartment.

"Spock?"

Spock entered the bathroom clad only in boxer shorts. "Do you require my assistance?"

"No, no." Spock began to make shaving foam in the small bowl, then lathering it onto his face. "Going someplace?"

"Yes," was all Spock would offer.

McCoy finished, got himself up, flushed the toilet. He went back over to the bed and sat down, pulled the medical bag over to him, donned the stethoscope. "I saw them."

After a few moments, Spock donned an undershirt and socks, putting on a freshly laundered collared shirt.

"The captors, Spock. I saw them. I'm sure of it."

"You mentioned this, when we arrived home, last night, Doctor. I do believe it was simply a figment of your imagination."

"Oh. Where's my glasses, Spock? I can barely see."

"Ah." Spock went into the kitchen, retrieved them. He returned to McCoy's side, handing them over. "They are not in the most optimum condition."

McCoy held up the blurry, shattered glasses. "Shit."

"My sentiments exactly."

"We cannot afford to get these fixed." McCoy set them down on the nightstand.

"Not yet, anyway," Spock replied, absently.

"What's the matter?"

Spock buttoned his shirt. "Matter? Nothing at all is the matter."

"You seem...you seem almost nervous, if I didn't know you better."

"Vulcan's do not get nervous."

"The hell they don't. You're as anxious as a long tailed cat in a rocking chair convention-where the hell are you going, anyway? Spock? Will you please tell me where you are going?"

Spock stopped amid stepping into his trousers. He sighed and said very precisely in an almost ashamed tone of voice: "Since you can no longer work, I am going to make us some money."

McCoy broke out in a huge smile. "You got a job? A night job? Where?" He suddenly frowned. "What do you mean I can no longer work?"

Spock did not answer him. He pulled up his pants to his waist, then buttoned his suspenders and tied his tie in his usual precise Windsor knot. McCoy squinted and had to admit that the combination: white shirt, suspenders, trousers, tie, jacket and pinky ring that Spock refused to pawn looked dashing on the Vulcan (well as far as he could see as it was blurry), but he wasn't going to tell the green blooded hobgoblin that.

"Spock? Where's the job? You're not gonna tell me? Spock? Will you please-" Spock began putting on his peacoat. "Tell me!"

"Playing piano at the 'Hollywood Nightclub'. Five nights a week," Spock replied, finally meeting his eyes.

McCoy whooped and clapped his hands. "You caved in!"

"Doctor, please."

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about, Spock. I don't know what your problem is. A job is a job and it's an honorable thing. We are in desperate times. Hell, I'd do it if I could. What do you mean I can no longer work?"

"Is it not obvious?"

"Fine, if you insist. No more working. If you think you can support the both of us."

"I shall do so."

"You seem really determined."

Spock shrugged.

"I wish I could come along and watch you. Your debut performance."

"Rest. I will be home late."

"Don't forget your hat."

Spock reached for it. "Of course."

"Knock 'em dead!" McCoy shouted after him.

* * *

And so Spock played piano at the club five nights a week. He returned to the apartment around 4am and they survived, barely, on the tips he made.

In the mornings and afternoons, he took on any and all errands, the grocery shopping (as much as he could afford which wasn't much) at the open air market in Lincoln park, tackled the seemingly never ending laundry in the basement-the washing machine and dryer did indeed resemble a macabre torture device- and much of the housework, insisting that McCoy relax, ignoring his protests: "I feel useless around here, Goddammit!"

Every evening at 6pm McCoy helped him ready for work. Often a record would be playing on the phonograph, usually a selection by Artie Shaw (McCoy's apparent recent favorite artist).

Spock refused to eat dinner, making sure it was McCoy who got all of the nourishment. "I shall eat at the club."

"You're getting thinner. Wasting away, dammit!"

"I am fine, Doctor, rest."

"That is all I've been doing. Gettin' ancy hanging around here. Wish I could come see you play."

"The club's atmosphere is not appropriate for you."

"What do you mean?"

"It is a...little rough."

"And you're afraid I'll get my pregnant ass all beaten up."

Spock donned his white shirt. "Precisely. And there is plenty of cigarette smoke."

* * *

Downward facing dog.

He'd been a virgin until Joss, till he was 22 years old, unthinkable in his day and age, but yet to him sex hadn't been all that important-too damned serious about studying and terribly shy to boot. Then he'd met her and it seemed as if the dam opened up, he couldn't get enough of it. He'd been due to go in for his yearly BC shot and of course he was too busy hanging around her and not bothering to be mature (thinking with his loins) when he wasn't on rounds or studying.

Never thought it would happen to him, but he was a med student you'd think he'd know how babies were made-

_"...leonard...i think i'm pregnant..."_

Upward dog, into child's pose...go into child's pose if you feel lightheaded...

Apparently he had no real idea how babies were made, because here he was defying nature...he hadn't even had sex in nearly a year, the last time was with that stripper on Wrigley's. And due to the crazy pregnancy hormones and the lack of his own, he still hadn't been able to get it up since landing here.

And sex hadn't made this baby... maybe he belonged at the Pike with the 'Bearded Lady'.

On the radio played 'George Burns and Gracie Allen's Wartime Special Broadcast for Housewives'. "That's precisely what I am, a goddamned housewife. Spock goes out and earns the living and I make the living worthwhile." He snorted at that, crouched in the child's pose-

What would Jim think of that?

...now when he thought of Jim, or even Joss and Joanna, they didn't seem real anymore, more like ghosts...

Not unlike his whole universe, those things he'd taken for granted: communicators, shuttles, modern conveniences, modern science and medicine, food processors, news being delivered instintaniously instead of being hours or even days old...less clothing, Starfleet, his quarters, his sickbay...that tin can called The Enterprise that he'd called home for the last-

"George and Gracie Wartime Special is sponsored by 'Lifebouy Soap'!" The radio dove into a loud commercial, rousing him out of his brooding thoughts.

"Well at least it's not Kent cigarettes."

He heard a knock at the door. "It's open!" He knew fully well he shouldn't leave his door unlocked, but everyone else seemed to and if any alien captors were about to get him, a locked door sure as hell wasn't gonna stand in their way. But it always gave him pause when there was a knock at the door.

It creaked open, revealing Carolyn. She seemed to panic when she spotted him crouched on the floor. "Dr. McCoy! Are you alright?"

"I'm fine! Just practicing some prenatal yoga."

"Some what?"

"Yoga."

She shook her head as if she still didn't know what the hell he was talking about. She helped him up then over to the kitchen where they both sat down.

"Want something to drink? I have water and tea."

"No thanks, Doc. Shouldn't you be in bed, resting?"

"No and it's about time you called me Leonard."

She dug into her purse and brought out his eyeglasses. "Got them fixed for you."

He gasped. "How'd you know they were broken?"

"Spock," she said.

"Oh, Sweetheart, you didn't have to do that." He took them from her. "Thank you."

"Don't worry," she shot back. "You can pay me back in nylon rations!"

He shook his head. "Smart girl."

"You mean a 'smart ass'?"

"Now you know I don't talk like that in front of a lady, what's the matter with you?" He donned them and looked at her. She was wearing a delicate lace blouse, wool skirt, her damned nylons with the seams down the back and heels. And of course her perfectly coiffed Blonde hair, matching her stunning blue eyes. "My God...You are...beautiful, where you off to?"

"Work. Gotta make those airplanes."

"Dressed like that?"

She laughed. "I change into my overalls in the dressing room at the plant."

He reached over to the nightstand and picked up his ration card. "Here." He handed her the stamps for nylons.

"Ohhh, good! Look at the runner I have in these! Tried to stop it with nail polish but I can only do so much." She showed him the laddering on one leg. "You need anything? Some breakfast?"

"Nah, nah, I got Spock for that."

She giggled. "Can he cook?"

"Not really."

She looked around. "Can't do housework, either."

He shrugged. "Well. That's Spock for you."

"Anyway." Carolyn opened up her purse again and brought out another object—a small 3x5 photograph. Black and white, with a white border. "Here."

He took it from her and studied the image.

"That was your birthday party," she told him.

Myrtle stood proudly next to him, with the birthday cake she'd baked for him, Carolyn next to Spock. He bit his lip and swallowed. "Carolyn…if I hadn't let her go on that thing, she'd still be here. An idiot could have seen it was too unsafe to ride." His voice cracked.

She leaned over and patted his midsection. "You keep blaming yourself. It wasn't your fault."

He stared at the photo again and said nothing.

Carolyn continued feeling his abdomen. "It's hard."

He blushed and grabbed at her hands. "Stop it."

"I can't believe it. Who ever heard of a man being pregnant? It like what you read in the gossip papers, or see at the freak show."

"Don't tell anyone."

"I won't. I promise. But I have a present for you."

"What is it?"

"Well, it doesn't look like you have bothered with buying...you know the essentials...since you have this crazy idea that you're going home soon, in the future, back to Mars."

"Dammit, Carolyn-!"

"I was only kiddin'. Relax buster." She brought out a pink baby bonnet from her purse. "Here. To start it off."

McCoy cracked a smile, taking it from her. "What if it's a boy?"

Carolyn patted his belly again. "No, you're carrying a girl. Women can tell these things. You should name it Grace!"

"Hmph."

"Lets have a baby shower!"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because, nobody can know about this. It would be awful if your government found out, got involved."

"I could have a secret baby shower."

"A secret baby shower? Now that's ridiculous, Carolyn. You girls-"

"I could say the mother is unmarried-which is true, right? And she doesn't want anybody to know her real identity. We could have a party in my apartment, in the mother's honor."

"You just want to have a damned party. You don't care what the occasion."

"Maybe. I'll bring you some cake and ice cream, and of course all the gifts, and a vanilla malt."

"You play dirty pool, Madam."

"I sure as hell do, Leonard."

"Hey," McCoy said. "Look what amazing feat I can do." He picked up a silver piece from the nightstand and walked it along his knuckles. She laughed and clapped her hands. "This is what happens when you're stuck in this apartment all day long."

"There's a guy at my theatre group that can do that."

"Theatre group? What theatre group?"

"This one." She brought out a card from her purse.

"What else you got in that bag? Seems like a bottomless pit." He took the card from her. "The Long Beach Community Players present: 'Our Town'."

"I'm in that play."

"Oh? You never mentioned this."

"Cause I just joined. You and Spock should come watch me during the run. Hey look at the time. I gotta go." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Name her Sharon. See you later."

* * *

He was starving, and itchin' for some company. That's why it suddenly possessed him to go downstairs and join Carolyn and the girls for their (his) silly little baby shower. Men attending showers were apparently a thing unheard of in this time-he'd been invited when Joss was pregnant with Joanna as it included couples. He hadn't attended anyway, he had been working at the hospital as usual.

The girls of course squealed when they opened the door but were happy to let him in. The usual suspects in Carolyn's crowd were present, with some new faces. Carolyn introduced them: Anne Jolly, Betty Jo, Billee, Elizabeth, Mary... How Carolyn could fit ten ladies in here plus him... He practically gobbled the food down-the food he could actually safely consume, that is- and for some reason there was plenty of vegetarian and vegan fare on the kitchen table covered with a lace tablecloth, festooned with pink streamers.

"God, Leonard," Carolyn said. "You act like you haven't eaten in three days!"

It hadn't been three, but he and Spock had just barely made rent this week. Just barely. And Spock couldn't know, didn't need to know the truth (wasn't around in the evenings much to find out, anyhow), because the hobgoblin would protest that they could always sleep on a park bench for a couple weeks, food was more important for McCoy right now, but he'd become too accustomed to having privacy and a warm bed to sleep in-

He finished the food (had a second helping, and thirds on a few things), participated in their silly parlor games. He of course, with the rest of 'em, had a slice of vanilla cake with vanilla icing decorated with 'congratulations' with pink iced baby booties, baked by the hostess and some strawberry ice-cream.

He'd smiled at the vanilla cake. Almost as if Carolyn knew he'd show up.

He toasted the 'absent new mother' with the other girls (with a glass of water). Laughed and listened to music. The brightly wrapped gifts piled up in the corner. They were to be opened up: 'later by the new mother and her family'. Nobody smoked around him, strange, almost as if Carolyn had warned them not to-because as he'd suspected, she knew he was coming.

He smiled and talked and laughed and carried on and held court on the sofa because the laughing and the carrying on hid his melancholy-the reality sinking in, that he WAS going to give birth in 1942, like it or not. He truly felt like weeping and going to bed and staying there, wrapping the covers over himself, but he wasn't going to do that, would do nobody any good.

After the other girls all left, he helped Carolyn clean up. She wrapped up a plate of food (in fact heaped it on) and the rest of the cake, insisting he take it home. She followed him to his apartment with the gifts.

"Stay and help me open them," he told her.

She shook her head. "It's late. Spock should be back soon."

He nodded, thanked her and kissed her on the cheek goodnight.

And now he was alone again in his own apartment, a mountain of brightly wrapped gifts covering one half of the kitchen table and one chair and he couldn't stop the onslaught of tears.

And there he sat, face buried in his hands, among the gifts in the kitchen, until he heard the key in the lock-must be 3am.

He finally looked up to see Spock staring at the gifts. The Vulcan's own unabashedly anguished eyes were heartbreaking.

McCoy stood and went to the ice-box. He brought out a plate of food for Spock and sat it down on the table next to the gifts. "Eat this."

"Doctor, I assure you that is most unnecessary, I am not-"

"Eat the goddamned food! Don't you think I can see how famished you are, you fucking asshole?!" He'd screeched out the last part of it. He knew fully well he sounded desperate and horrible, not entirely meaning to be that harsh but apparently it worked.

Spock sat obediently and ate the food, cleaning the plate.

* * *

A few days later, Spock came home with the news: "I have found a job."

"Thought you had one, Spock, playing piano at the club."

"The tips do not pay enough to support us. I have found a day job."

"Where?"

"Working on an oil rig on Signal Hill."

"Rough necking? Are you nuts? Jesus, Spock...that's...So you're going to quit the pianist position, to work on an oil rig?"

"Negative, I plan to perform both duties. The company bus will pick me up at 4am from Third street and Pacific Avenue. Six days a week."

"You first get home from playing piano at 3am! When are you gonna sleep?"

"I do have one day off. And I do not require as much sleep as a human."

"Yeah, but you do require some sleep! One day off ain't gonna be enough. You're gonna wear yourself out!"

"It is necessary."

"What time do you plan on coming home from the roughneck job?"

"Six o'clock."

"And you play piano at seven. So you're gonna do this on no sleep all week?"

"Affirmative." Spock met his eyes. "I have gone without sleep for several weeks at a time, before."

"Yeah, two weeks, but you were a mess! And you didn't work on an oil rig!"

"If you have a better alternative...?"

"No, Goddammit. We're never gonna-we're never gonna see much of each-why this?"

"The oil rig administrators did not mind if I was Japanese," Spock said tightly.

"You're not Japanese," McCoy ground out.

* * *

Spock kept up this schedule for two weeks solid.

The bus owned by the corporation, filled with other workmen, picked him up every morning, himself armed with a thermos of tea (the doctor had insisted on rising with him and brewing for him) along with a metal lunchbox that he'd told McCoy he did not need and McCoy had insisted he take along anyway.

He toiled each day at full speed, the heat on the rig reaching high enough (almost boiling point) temperatures as to where he would remove his own shirt.

The work proved strenuous even for a Vulcan and repetitive. At the midday meal break he found himself practically inhaling his rather large lunch. Most unseemly for him, but everyone else appeared to be doing the same. The note left in his lunch box gave him pause:

**'You better eat this, dammit. Every last bit of it.**

**Love,**

**L'**

That was the beginning of many notes, 'signed: Love L'. The notes sometimes told him to have a nice day, or perhaps included a poem or something witty. He usually shoved them into his pocket and forgot about them.

After the long day on working on the hill and the journey home on the bus he would arrive home at precisely 6pm. In that hour he bathed and shaved, McCoy helping him remove his dusty, dirty, oil stained clothes and boots and handing him fresh articles and his wing tipped shoes to don.

McCoy then would put his dinner in front of him and he ate in silence in the few moments he had to spare. Then he walked over to The Pike and played at the club, returning home at 3am, getting ready for the next day's labors and leaving again at 4am.

On Sunday, the day off, he surprised himself by actually sleeping in till noon. Something unheard of before and rather embarrassing, were he to admit to the emotion. He half expected McCoy to come up with some sort of cutting remark, but the man simply had remained curled up next to him on the bed, until feeling him stir, then rising and 'fixing' as the man usually put it, him some lunch. He felt ravenous, in spite of himself.

He worked another full week until friday when there was an explosion on the oil rig. The force of the blast sent him sailing over the side, falling approximately forty feet onto the ground below. He'd picked himself off the ground and reported back to his superiors. The oil rig obviously was consumed with fire and destroyed.

The foremen stared at him. How he could have fallen from that distance with so few injuries and no burns? How was he not paralyzed? Or dead? They kept frowning at him. He wiped his brow to find blood (mixed with some oil). In fact the whole crew was aghast at the green 'substance' streaming from his face and hands. "What is that? It's disgusting!".

He was ordered to 'go on home and stay there'. He walked entire the distance from Signal Hill to downtown.

He noted that he was simply cut and bruised, no bones broken and by the time he'd made it home, he needed to get ready for his night at the club.

McCoy took one look at him and paled but luckily said not one word, did not complain, stayed blissfully quiet. Perhaps the man sensed that he was at his breaking point. The intense physical labor, the injuries, the exhaustion.

McCoy simply cleaned off the oil then dabbed at the cut on his forehead with a cloth and liquid. He could not avoid wincing slightly at the sting.

McCoy pulled off his bloody shirt and undershirt, running fingers along his body-checking silently for more injuries, looking into his eyes, to check for concussion. Both remained mute as he did so.

He bathed, with McCoy washing his hair.

While he shaved McCoy darted off somewhere, meanwhile, he was not concerned in finding out at this point.

The door opened and McCoy returned. He handed Spock a small circular jar. "Here."

"What is this?"

"Carolyn's make up. You gotta cover those nasty cuts and bruises up."

He frowned at it and rather than argue, he went in front of the mirror and did so.

* * *

He returned from the club at 4am and found the doctor asleep on the bed (as well the man should be at this hour).

However, the man was cuddled up with Spock's pillow, embracing it, face nuzzled into it.

As exhausted as he was, he did not have the heart to pull his pillow away from McCoy's clutches.

This sight of McCoy moved him, in a way that he could not, he did not quite-

He opened the front door and quickly left the apartment.

He walked from Cedar down Ocean Ave to the corner of Cherry and Broadway, to the precise location where they'd first landed, Bixby Park, seven months ago.

The park proved deserted, eerily illuminated by dim street lamps. As usual, nothing in the air to suggest any type of vortex, portal, nothing amiss in the area and as McCoy would say, he might have killed for a tri-corder at this very moment.

He sat down on a park bench amidst the quiet and near darkness. He found himself staring into nothingness, in a stupor. The sudden dense fog moved from the ocean to blanket the grass and the trees. His behavior could be called contemplation, or perhaps even a first level of meditation, however McCoy would call it sulking or pensiveness.

He had failed.

Failed to protect Leonard McCoy from injury and pain and quite possibly-no, quite probably-certain impending death.

He was quite unworthy of McCoy's trust in him.

"Jim." It had been a whisper, but he looked up surprised at how loud his voice was..."Jim...you've always...managed a rescue at the last possible moment...what has happened now to preclude your arrival? Where are you? Why do you not-?"

His voice broke and he felt ashamed. Ashamed at the illogic of speaking aloud to no one, begging, pleading to a...a spectre, a man who did not exist at this very moment in time, had not been born yet, who probably would never be...

He felt shame at the tear that welled up. He reached up to brush it away.

Ashamed at the despair...he put his hands up to his face to cover the indiginity of more tears.

After what seemed like an approximate hour he believed he'd heard a noise and glanced up.

A figure stood before him, clad entirely in white, from head to toe. Any type of face was covered by a white fencing masque.

He stood. "Who are you? What do you want with us?"

The figure said nothing. Merely stood there.

He lunged for it, attempting to grab, to force the figure to speak to him, to threaten, to make it or THEM help him and McCoy return home.

The figure vanished before he could make contact.

"Where are you?!" In the back of his mind was aware he was shouting or even screaming. "Who are you?! You must help us. We do not belong here!"

There was nothing.

He sank down to his knees, the sopping wet grass soaking his trousers.

He must be going mad.

Leonard.

* * *

McCoy snapped awake. "Spock?"

But there was no indication that Spock had ever been home.

He checked the clock on the nightstand. 6am.

He brought the covers up to his neck to ward off the sudden chill.

* * *

At 8am Spock began his journey back to the apartment, walking down Broadway, past the 'Harriman Jones Clinic' where he had once been employed.

He stopped at the 'Help Wanted' sign in the window of the soda fountain/pharmacy.

The door jingled as he opened it and entered the establishment.

The elderly man took one look at him-The cuts, the bruises, the hopelessness marring his face, his bleak, hooded eyes- and nodded.

* * *

**"Do you like to love?"**

**"No."**

**"Do you like to kiss?"**

**"No."**

**"Well, what do you like?"**

**"Lamb chops."**

**"Well, how many lamb chops would you like to eat?"**

**"Six."**

**"A little girl like you? Can you eat six lamb chops alone?"**

**"Not alone, but with potatoes I could."**

McCoy chuckled as the music began on the radio accompanied by the sound of tap dancing. "Are they dancing? You can't even see them do it on radio, now that's the craziest thing..." he muttered as he dried a dish. "Pork chops sound delicious right now, pity my stomach can't handle them."

**"We'd like to do a little more for you, but we're not prepared-"**

**"I am."**

**"Uh...you see uh-"**

**"If my brother were here, I could do something along with my brother."**

**"We uh..."**

**"But my brother isn't here so i'll have to do something."**

**"Well, I was born in New York and we were headed to San Francisco-"**

**"He got held up last night."**

**"Well you people are so nice-"**

**"Did you hear my brother got held up? Did you know that George, about my brother?"**

**"If we were born again, we'd like to be born right here in Altoona!"**

**"Two men. Two men, George!"**

**"Two. Your brother?"**

**"Uh huh."**

**"Was held up."**

**"Yes."**

**"By two men."**

**"Yes."**

**"Where?"**

**"All the way home."**

**"Hey Gracie, what gives more milk than a cow?"**

**"Two cows."**

**"Say goodnight, Gracie."**

**"Goodnight."**

**(applause) "George Burns and Gracie Allen was brought to you by 'Lifebouy' soap and The Plunge Indoor Bathhouse at the Long Beach Pike, in Long Beach, California. Even little Jimmy Kirk enjoys the warm salt water and indoor fun at the Plunge! Don'cha Jimmy?"**

**"Oh boy, do I , Sir! I love the Plunge!"**

**"So, join Little Jimmy Kirk at the Long Beach Plunge, you'll be glad you did."**

McCoy gasped. "Little Jimmy Kirk!"

* * *

Spock opened the door and found McCoy standing right behind it, bouncing his heels.

"'Little Jimmy Kirk' likes to go to 'The Plunge' bathhouse and indoor swimming pool!" McCoy informed him.

"Coincidence," Spock replied.

"The hell it is! It's him! It's Jim! It's a sign! Little Jimmy Kirk! The signs have been there all along, right under our noses! Sulu's Laundry! Scotty's Burgers! Enterprise Rent a Car! And Little Jimmy Kirk. Let's go, Spock!"

"I am due to play piano tonight."

McCoy's eyes grew as wide as saucers. "Seriously? You're worried about playing piano at a time like this? Spock! What's the matter with you! It's Jim! We're going home! Let's go, Spock! Come on!" McCoy grabbed his coat from the chair. "Come on, Spock!"

Perhaps he could humor the desperate man.

Or perhaps it was indeed a sign. Spock nodded and opened up the door.

"I think I'm gonna miss this old place," McCoy said. Spock turned around to where McCoy was looking, at the cramped living quarters they'd shared all these months. "But I'll be glad to get home!" He grinned at Spock, clapping him on the shoulder. "This is it! He's waiting for us! I knew Jim wouldn't let us down!"

* * *

"You see him?"

They stood in front of 'The Plunge' under the bright red, buzzing neon sign, waiting-for any indication of their captain-as they'd been for a full hour.

"Negative."

"He's gotta be here, someplace."

"Perhaps he is inside."

"You mean, we should go in? Pay and go into the swimming pool?"

"Yes."

"Aren't you afraid of water?"

"I am, but you shall protect me," Spock said, smirking at the doctor, who threw him an odd glance.

"If you say so. I bet he's in there, couldn't resist splashing in the pool, waiting for little ol' us!" McCoy smacked his hands together.

* * *

"This feels so good, damned good." McCoy groaned in his rented red swimming trunks, protruding belly visible. "Why hadn't we thought of coming here before?"

The plunge's saltwater did feel very warm and inviting. And not quite so frightening, somehow. Perhaps it was because the doctor was next to him, hand firmly wrapped around his arm.

"You see Jim anyplace?" They'd searched the locker rooms, walked around the pool a few times, checked out every nook and cranny in the place. The facility appeared relatively vacant at this later hour in the evening.

"He's gotta be here!" McCoy said. "Goddamnit, I can't stand it in this century any longer, he's gotta be here!"

* * *

"Would you like something to eat?" McCoy asked him.

The Andrew Sisters song: "Nice Work if you can Get it" played on the phonograph:

**'Holding hands at midnight**

**'neath the starry sky,**

**nice work if you can get it,**

**and you can get it if you try.'**

**'strolling with the one boy**

**sighing sigh after sigh**

**nice owrk if you can get it**

**and you can get it if you try**

**just imagine someone **

**waiting at the cottage door**

**who could ask for anything more**

**loving one who loves you**

**and then taking that vow.**

**nice work if you can get it**

**and if you get it tell me how...**

**just imagine someone waiting at the cottage door.**

"No thank you, Doctor, I am not hungry."

"Well, I'm fixing something, I'm starving."

Spock nodded, sat down at the kitchen table and opened up the newspaper.

"I think from now on we should forget about putting in ads in the paper for Jim," McCoy said, back turned to him, facing the stove. "It's costing us too much money and it doesn't appear to have worked, anyway. It's pointless."

Spock nodded. "Perhaps you are right."

The song finished, McCoy went over and put the needle at the beginning again. The song started over.

**'Holding hands at midnight**

**'neath the starry sky,**

**nice work if you can get it,**

**and you can get it if you try...'**

Spock raised an eyebrow, said nothing, and went back to the paper.

The song ended. McCoy went over to the phonograph and put the needle at the beginning again. The song began again.

**'Holding hands at midnight**

**'neath the starry sky,**

**nice work if you can get it,**

**and you can get it if you try...'**

He brought the food over and dished out some on a plate for Spock.

"Doctor, I do believe I told you I am not hungry."

"Shut up, Spock and eat it."

Spock sighed and did so. The song finished. McCoy went back over and started it again.

**'Holding hands at midnight**

**'neath the starry sky**

**nice work if you can get it,**

**and you can get it if you try...'**

Spock finished his meal. McCoy looked at nothing in particular.

The song finished. McCoy got up, went over and started it again, he stood at the counter, and began to eat, as one of the chairs and the other half of the table was still covered in the wrapped baby gifts they never had bothered to open.

The song finished. McCoy went over and started it again. He went back to the counter and finished his meal.

Spock calmly got up, went to the phonograph, pulled up the needle mid-song, and set the arm on the side then shut off the phonograph.

"I was listening to that."

"Then choose a different song."

"Last time I checked it was still a free country! I mean we haven't fucked up that part, yet, have we? I mean it's only a matter of time, till Nazi Germany wins the war, maybe...and history, I mean the future becomes so unrecognizable that home is gone and Jim is dead and the captors swoop, sucking us all up into oblivion, but not until they've tortured the hell out of everybody-but right now It's still a free country and I can do what I like in my own apartment, isn't that right Spock?!"

"If the captors indeed swoop, it does not matter who wins the war, does it?" Spock asked, grimly.

"You goddamned son of a bitch!" McCoy advanced on him, ready to strike.

Spock caught his wrist. "Why don't you unwrap your gifts, Doctor?" he finally said, the epitome of calm, meeting McCoy's eyes. "They serve no useful purpose resting on the kitchen table."

"Fine," McCoy said, his jaw clenched. Spock let go of him and the man gestured grandly. "Might as well enjoy myself, right? Which one shall I start with?"

"I have no preference."

McCoy selected the closest one and quickly unwrapped it. He chuckled at the baby blanket and teddy bear, but quickly cleared his throat. "Cute."

"Who is that from?" Spock asked.

McCoy looked at the card. "Anne Jolly. That was nice of her."

"It was."

"They all seem to think I'm having a girl, so everything is all pink." McCoy went over, fetching a piece of paper. "I'd better keep track of who gave what. So I can write them all thank you notes. 'Thank you from the anonymous mother'!" he said, with feigned excitement. McCoy moved to tackle the rest of them. "Don't you want to unwrap something?"

"Negative."

"Well...bein' as you're gonna be the one stuck with this kid, after I'm gone..." McCoy trailed off. "At least until this planet is emptied out, by the aliens."

Spock glanced at him sharply.

"Sure you don't want open a gift, Spock?"

Spock shook his head.

McCoy turned back to unwrapping and chuckled at the growing assortment of baby items, nursing bottles, booties, tiny clothing, receiving blankets, knitted blankets, cloth diapers and diaper pins-

"Feel sorry for you, Spock!"

"Why is that?"

"Cloth diapers in this day and age? You realize how much laundry that'll be?"

"I had not."

"Well, it's a lot. No diaper service, I don't think...or if there is, it's probably really expensive."

"Ah." Spock went back to reading the paper.

"I need to teach you how to put on a cloth diaper."

"It cannot be that difficult."

"Have you thanked Carolyn for throwing me a baby shower?" McCoy asked, bringing the items and putting them in a new location, standing there looking at them as if unsure of where to store them. "Baby's gonna need a crib," he said suddenly. "And a high chair, and a...damn there's still a bunch of things we need. How am I gonna manage all that? Did you know that baby furniture is rationed?"

"I have not thanked Carolyn as of this precise moment," Spock replied, faintly, to the earlier question.

"Ever have a baby, Spock?"

Spock gave him a look.

"Well, you're in for one hell of a shock."

Spock went back to his paper.

* * *

"What is this?" Spock picked up the brand new 78 inch disc on the table next to the phonograph. It was only labeled with 'McCoy' on the center label.

"Look at what I got, Spock." McCoy held up the stack of what appeared to be note cards. "Aren't these pretty? Pictures of the Pike. I suppose I should have got baby images, but this stack was only a penny. A penny for all of these, imagine that!"

"Doctor."

"Huh?"

"I am going to play this record if you do not divulge what it is."

"The hell do you care so damned much? Eh, Spock?" McCoy grumbled, nose in the stack of cards. "'Thank you, to Betty Jane, from...'" McCoy threw his pen onto the floor, it made a sharp crack when it landed.

"Doctor, kindly desist with the tantrums, ballpoint pens are expensive."

"Why in the hell am I writing 'anonymous'? They're all gonna find out soon anyway. Like my grandma used to say: 'It all comes out in the washin'." He tore up the card. "Hand me that, would ya?" Spock sighed, bent down and handed over the pen. McCoy wrote: "To Betty Jane, thank you, love, Leonard McCoy and Spo-should I put you down, too?"

Spock shrugged.

"By the way," McCoy added. "The recording is of my voice, three and a half minutes worth. It is for the baby to listen to."

"Pardon me?"

"It's so baby can hear my loving voice."

"Why would the child be unable to hear the sound of your voice, otherwise?"

"Goddamned obtuse, green blooded, pointy eared, hobgoblin," McCoy muttered. "Starting to piss me off."

"How did you obtain this?" Spock flipped it over in his hand, staring at it.

"Be sure and drop it, alright?"

Spock set it down. Carefully.

"I recorded it today, at the record store. They had a booth."

"How much did it cost?"

"That's all you're fucking worried about, how much shit cost. God, I love you. You know that? Always fucking worried about the cost."

Spock went to the bathroom to get ready for his night job. "I did have my pay heavily docked for not showing up the other day. You do realize that. I was nearly terminated, are you aware of that?"

"Uh huh. No need to get testy."

* * *

"Listen to me, Spock. Now that you got that new job, I'm gonna need you steal a few surgical items. Do you have access to the hospital from the pharmacy at all?"

"Yes."

"Don't get caught. I'm relying on you."

"What sort of items?"

McCoy handed him a list. Spock studied it even as McCoy recited: "Syringes, scalpels, IV line, bag of saline, suture needle, suture thread, clamps, a suction device, to start with. In this century it's all the supplies we've got." McCoy rested his hands on his huge abdomen. "Listen, uh, you're gonna perform the C-Section when the time comes."

"I am not qualified. I am not a surgeon. I am not even a physician."

"You'll be fine." McCoy said, with all the confidence Spock himself did not feel. "I know it. I'll teach you what to do. And when I go into labor…you'll do it."

"And if there is a complication?"

"Whatever happens get the baby out. Get it breathing, cut the cord, keep it warm and fed and it'll be okay. Who cares what happens to me? Yes, it is almost definite I will die. And when I do, dispose of my body where nobody can find it. In the incinerator out behind our apartment. Nobody will miss me. Take the baby, move to a better building or maybe a different town, San Francisco. Get a better job, work at a University, teaching, find a nice house to settle down in—you can do it."

"Dr. McCoy, this no time for levity."

"I'm as serious as a heart attack, Mr. Spock." Spock clenched his fist, McCoy noticed and laid his hand on top of it. "You can do it. I know you can."

"This is foolhardy," Spock insisted.

"What else are we supposed to do?!" McCoy exploded. "You got any other ideas? You let me know. Because I'm fresh out of options!" The doctor stopped, rubbed his belly soothingly, calmed himself a little. "We're running out of time. Jim doesn't exist anymore."

Spock turned away from McCoy.

"Spock! We are stuck here. Somehow time must have been changed. We couldn't help matters. We have to live. Like you said, even the most simplest interactions with these people has changed time. We're here for the rest of our lives. This is it. The end of the line. The Plunge proved it, he ain't comin'. Whether we like it or not, Spock, we're having a baby. In the year 1942."

* * *

_'he stands at the foot of the bed, scalpel at the ready, a fresh womb in his other hand..._

_the patient is strapped in, arms and legs bound. completely nude._

_he makes the incision in the thorax._

_the patient shrieks in agony. _

_trickles, then streams, then rivers of blood flow out of the deep wound. the cavity is clamped open...the internal organs are exposed..._

_he takes the womb and shoves it deep into the cavity_

_'no...no...no...what are you doing?!' the patient begs. _

_he stitches up the patient, pushing the needle in, pulling the suture in and out, in and out._

_more screams._

_he looks down at the crimson pools._

_most untidy. the room must be cleansed._

_water drops down from the ceiling, completely soaking him-_

"Spock, Spock, stop it...Wake up." McCoy held his arm down. "Wake up! Stop thrashing around. You knocked my water glass all over yourself."

Spock sat up and leaned over, elbows on his thighs, head between his legs. "It was me." He couldn't help the tear that ran down his cheek. "I did it."

McCoy moved behind him, rubbing his back. "You're shaking."

"Doctor, please do not touch me."

"I'll stop if you quit shaking."

"I performed the surgery. I remember."

"What surgery?"

"Inserting the womb into your abdominal cavity. Cutting you open. I did it. I put the child inside you. I caused you terrible pain."

McCoy made a small choking noise but recovered himself quickly. "It wasn't you. It was them. You didn't do it. It wasn't you. False memory. Did they do that to you? Put that in you head?"

Spock breathed. "I do not know. I could have sworn I-"

"You didn't do it, alright?! I was awake. I saw THEM do it. It wasn't you." He rubbed Spock's back some more. "That's it... breathe deeply. You're okay. It'll be okay. Come with me, this morning help me find a bassinet or maybe a Moses basket. Go shopping, this morning? Maybe go to Buffum's, there's a sale, you like sales, don'cha?"

"Yes."

"It was only a nightmare, Spock. Only a nightmare." McCoy kissed the top of Spock's head, in a vaguely parental fashion. "Hair's getting long. Want me to cut it?"

"Affirmative," Spock said, tightly.

"You didn't do it…you didn't do it. I'll say it all week if I have to. Till it sinks in."

* * *

"All they have are white bassinets in here." McCoy scowled in Buffums. "Dammit." He'd emphasized the word: 'white' like it had been a curse word.

"Do not fret. I am certain that they have other colors available."

"I don't know, Spock. All I see is a sea of white."

"May I help you, Gentlemen?" the clerk asked.

"Yes, Madam. Are there any other colors available in your line of baby beds?"

"Just white. Why? Was there another color you wanted?"

Spock glanced at McCoy.

McCoy answered the woman: "Pink."

"Which of your wives is expecting?"

"Mine is," Spock and McCoy answered in unison.

"Oh! Two fathers to be! Congratulations!"

"May I purchase a pink bassinet, please, ma'am?" McCoy asked.

"I'd have to special order it. They don't just come that way, it'll have to be painted."

"With non-leaded paint," McCoy insisted. "Or NPE or BPA or flurocarbons. Or whatever crap you people stick in your toxic paints."

"I'm not sure, Sir. I don't know-"

"Would you mind checking?"

The clerk sighed. "Just a moment." She consulted her files. "Yes, I'm sorry, Sir. It contains lead. I've never heard of paint that didn't have lead in it. Lead isn't harmful anyway."

"The hell it isn't. Lead causes brain damage! Not to mention- Spock," McCoy whispered, "could you-?"

"I can indeed formulate a 'green' version."

"My God, we could get rich on that invention. Maybe we could also write some 'Beatles Songs', eh Spock?" McCoy grinned and nudged him.

"Do you still want the bassinet?" the clerk asked.

"A white one, please." McCoy smiled. "No varnish on it."

* * *

Spock had been right, the club was rough, seedy and smoky and darkened in a 1930's gangster film noir kind of way. He'd probably have a fit (well, one appropriate for Spock, anyway) if the Vulcan knew he was here. Dangerous, probably, and the smoke, well was it any different than sitting in Woolworth's?

He made certain he'd wore his best clothing-the suit which was barely beginning to fit anymore-would need even more alterations to be comfortable much longer and Spock's suspenders (hopefully the hobgoblin, who was amassing quite a collection of the articles, wouldn't mind) and tie.

He paid the cover charge. The bouncer eyed him curiously, but let him in. He hoped the bartender wouldn't give him too much shit for ordering only water and of course the barman did. So he offered to buy the blonde "lady" standing at the bar a drink as long as he could have the water for himself. (Looking around for any possible male friend standing by to beat the living crap outta him). She brightened at the offer of the drink and said 'thank you' and expected him to want to spend the evening talking or more with her. However, he smiled serenely, handed her the gin and tonic and walked away.

He found a table not too near to the stage but close enough, sat down alone, where he'd be hidden in the darkness and he could observe-next to an exit, just in case.

Since it was 1942, he knew that clubs of this type weren't illegal anymore, but this one had to be a carryover from prohibition. Probably some hoods were playing poker, smoking some exquisite cigars in the back room right about now. He didn't know why he felt so damned envious of that.

And some newfound respect to Spock for even daring to associate with this place.

He picked up the small advertisement card that sat on all the tables, sipping his water with the lime, (which did look like a G and T to the casual observer, thank God). First on the bill was Peaches Mulligan. Oh...a stripper...he snickered at that one. Then a featured performer named 'Percy Thrillington' to solo on piano. Then two more acts to follow, 'Miss Noel Toy' and 'Sandra Storm'. Strange. No mention of Spock. He hoped this was the right place. He flipped the card over, nothing on the back. Humph. Well, maybe tonight wasn't Spock's night to play. But it should be, Spock would be here, wouldn't he? He hoped Spock hadn't been fired, after all.

Peaches Mulligan came out on the stage and was accompanied by a saxophone, drums and somebody on the piano in the darkness. He couldn't see who it was from his vantage point, but the playing sounded beautiful. Peaches was even more so, at first in red feathers then getting down to the pasties and panties, then finally topless. Men hooted and hollered at her and threw money onto the stage.

Goddamn, as pregnant as he was, he could still appreciate a fine lookin' woman.

Finally Peaches Mulligan finished her set, picked up the tips and got off the stage, amidst cheering.

The trumpet player and drummer also left. Then a spotlight went up on the piano player. It was Spock. Wearing a fedora that McCoy'd never seen before. Spock had been accompanying the stripper! There was applause and cheering as of course at this point he would be a regular fixture at this club and have a following. McCoy didn't know what he had been expecting-perhaps atmosphere music in a bar, but not featured on stage like this.

Spock played four very technically difficult songs. He finished, there was cheering, he then stood up and bowed. The club gave him a standing ovation. McCoy managed to rise up with rest of them, applauding.

Then the Vulcan went back to his piano. He was joined by the other band members and Miss Noel Toy came on the stage. It seemed surreal that Spock was playing piano, so a stripper could dance, but he was.

Then the other act followed. When she finished, 'Percy Thrillington' bowed again, went off the stage. A band, filled in for the rest of the evening.

Then out of the corner of his eye, he spotted 'Percy' making his way through the crowd. He panicked, prepared to get up from his table and exit the joint, before Spock could spot him.

But he waited, transfixed. 'Percy' was surrounded by a gaggle of beautiful, extremely glamourous looking women and equally glamourous looking Spock flirting with them. Jesus, who knew Spock could do that? The women were touching him, hands all over him, whispering in his ear, Spock smirking-

McCoy looked down at his glass of water, an odd twinge of jealousy welling up inside of him. Flirting with the ladies, Spock wearing mother's goddamned ring on his pinky.

He looked up again, watched as a woman put her arm through the crook of 'Percy's' arm, and lead him off to a door on the side of the room, presumably dressing rooms, or-

"Oh, no. He's not a goddamned prostitute, is he?" McCoy muttered.

He stood up, as fast as was possible for a pregnant man and got himself the hell out of there.

* * *

ON TO THE NEXT PART...


	8. May

**A/N: Thank you kindly for your reviews! I really appreciate them.)**

**MAY**

Spock came home to find McCoy curled up on the bed in the fetal position. The apartment was completely silent, which at this point proved unusual. The doctor, these days was typically rather enamored of evening comedy radio shows, or music, those sounds becoming the soundtrack of their lives here. McCoy's breathing appeared even and he did not move. At first Spock surmised the man was asleep, until he stepped towards the kitchen, the linoleum squeaking under his footfall.

"What are you doing home?" McCoy murmured. "Don't you have to work tonight?"

Rather than replying: 'obviously not' Spock spoke a bit more gently: "Not tonight."

"What time is it?"

"Seven o' clock."

"Did you work late at the soda fountain?"

"I did. Two hours overtime stocking up the shelves."

"Oh. Good. Means more money for you." McCoy sighed deeply, maneuvering himself to a sitting position. "Where's your uniform?"

"I am meant to keep it at work. I have a locker there, where I change my clothing before shift."

"Oh," McCoy breathed. "They launder it for you?"

"They do."

"That's nice of them. Isn't today payday?"

Spock dug into his pocket. He drew out a wad of cash and laid it on the nightstand. "I already paid the rent."

McCoy smiled weakly. "Good Vulcan."

Spock studied him. The doctor, dressed in nothing but a bathrobe, underwear, socks and slippers, seemed especially fragile this evening. "Have you eaten?"

McCoy shook his head. "No." He struggled to sit up. "I'll fix something for you."

Spock stopped him with a hand on the man's shoulder. "I will cook. Do we have enough consumables in the icebox?"

"We have enough for tonight. We're a little low on food rations but I have beans soaking and some vegetables. Corn and collard greens. But," McCoy chuckled softly, "you don't cook."

"Doctor, I have watched you enough times to realize that it is not that difficult a task."

"Thanks a lot. You don't appreciate me slaving over a hot stove for you?"

"I appreciate you cooking dinner, yes, but as far as referring to it as slavery, you are exaggerating."

McCoy struggled to get up off the bed. "Need to pee."

"Of course." Spock helped him up.

"Thanks." McCoy headed towards the bathroom. "The baby's pressing on my bladder now. Feels like the fetus might have dropped."

"Is that normal?"

"Uh huh. Won't be long now. Baby thinks it's coming out the normal way! Well isn't it gonna be in for a surprise!"

"I propose we go out to dinner," Spock said, suddenly. "Do you feel up to it?"

McCoy hesitated for a moment. "You want to take me out for a...meal?"

"I believe that is what I have suggested."

"Where?"

"There is a restaurant located at the top of the Hilton Hotel."

"The 'Sky Room?' That's kind of swanky." At Spock's curious glance he added: "Expensive."

"It is, however, we have not celebrated my new position as 'Soda Jerk'."

McCoy snickered. "It sounds crazy to hear you say it. You just don't want to fix supper."

"There is that," Spock agreed.

"Alright. I got cabin fever sitting around here all day, every day, anyway."

"Cabin fever? There is no such malady."

"There is so. Used to suffer from it on board the Enterprise, took me a year to get used to living on that tin can. I'll pee and make myself presentable...put my glad rags on."

"Glad rags?"

McCoy shuffled into the bathroom, leaving the door wide open. There was an audible sigh as he sat down to urinate. "This is getting more and more difficult," he called out after a few moments. "But you're not helping me off the toilet, that's just too goddamned humiliating."

"If you require my assistance, Doctor-"

"No! Oh...shit!"

Spock immediately tensed. Perhaps McCoy had gone into labor. He darted into the bathroom. "Are you alright?"

"Get out of here, Spock." McCoy looked up and scowled. "I'm fine! Just...having a little trouble getting up."

Spock held out his hands.

"No. You are not helping me off of the toilet. You'd just bring it up later in an argument. I can do it. Now, git!" He waved his hand.

"You are the one who left the bathroom door open." Spock left the area to the man. After many grunts and groans and grumbling, finally the toilet flushed.

"See?" McCoy called back. "I told you I could do it by myself. Only did it by myself about twenty five times today while you were gone. Put the radio on while I get ready, will ya?"

"Certainly." Spock flipped the dial. After a minute's warm up the silence faded into laughter, a comedy broadcast, perhaps it was a show the doctor might enjoy.

"Oh, good," McCoy said. "Red Skelton!"

After ten minutes, punctuated by McCoy giggling at the radio, he finally emerged from the bathroom. "Gonna need a little help getting dressed."

Spock assisted the man catching the odor of the aftershave that had been a gift from Myrtle. He pulled out a pair of underpants from the dresser and handed them over to McCoy.

"Are these mine or yours, Spock?"

"Mine."

"Does it matter?"

"No."

"We should ask Carolyn to come along, huh?"

"Negative."

"What do you mean, negative? You want it to be just the two of us?" McCoy raised an eyebrow.

Spock went over to the bathroom, picked up the toothpaste. He squeezed out a portion onto his toothbrush and began brushing his teeth.

"By the way Spock, I wouldn't leave my toothbrush out if I was you. I found another cockroach in the bathroom, today. A normal black one, not an albino. Still huge as all get out. Coulda put a leash on that thing."

Spock took the toothbrush out of his mouth and spit into the sink. "Duly noted. Where is the floss?"

"In here," McCoy threw the floss container back to him.

"Why is the floss in the living room?"

"Cause I sit down in here to floss my teeth, more comfortable," McCoy explained patiently, as if it was the most rational thing in the universe.

Spock began flossing his teeth, walking back to the living room. "Surely a doctor would realize that flossing one's teeth in the living room is rather unsanitary."

"But more comfortable. And since I'm pregnant, comfort wins out."

"Ah."

"Do you always talk and floss at the same time?"

* * *

"This place is nice," McCoy said, shyly glancing up at Spock and smiling as they studied their menus. McCoy hadn't been entirely enamored of the rickety elevator with it's creepy operator wearing tails and a top hat, but it was better than climbing a staircase of twenty flights.

"Pricey."

"Hey, you wanted to come here. You don't get to complain about the cost."

They did not speak much more, until their water glasses were filled. McCoy held his up. "Should we have a toast? I mean..." He cleared his throat. "It's a little silly and all, with water, not brandy..." He cleared his throat again. "I don't know what the hell I'm saying, but, uh...should we?"

"A toast? I am unfamiliar with the custom."

"You've been living on Earth now, for almost nine months and you don't know what a toast is?"

"I have lived on Earth a lot longer than that."

"Oh...of course, San Francisco. In our own centur...in...uh..." McCoy cleared his throat again.

Spock looked at him. "Yes."

"Well, a toast is: We clink our drinking glasses and honor something by mentioning it."

"I see." Spock held up his own glass. "To what are we toasting?"

McCoy grinned like a madman. "To, Percy Thrillington."

Spock felt himself blush (much to McCoy's apparent delight) and set his glass down.

"What's the matter, Spock?"

"I play piano to accompany strip-tease artistes."

"'Strippers', you mean? So what?"

"What would my father say? What would Jim say?"

"They ain't here, are they? Jim would probably be thrilled." Spock cast him a skeptical glance at that. "It's an honest job. Which is an honorable thing, as I've told you. You play beautifully. Though Paul McCartney might be pissed that you ripped off his alter ego."

"Paul McCartney is not here."

McCoy laughed. "1942. He's an infant. We hope." He paused, then asked: "Is that all you do at that club, play piano?"

Spock took a sip of his water. "What do you mean by that?"

"You know, in your job description. What else are you required to do?"

"I am required to entertain the ladies, yes."

McCoy coughed. "So you..." He shook his head. "Spock they do have antibiotics in this time, but I don't know if they're safe for your system. Be careful."

"Be careful?"

"You don't what those girls have...any kind of sexually transmitted disease...what the hell these people might be carrying."

"I am not required to have sexual intercourse with them." Spock cocked his head slightly. "Is that what you surmised, when you were watching me the other night?"

This time it was McCoy's turn to blush. "You knew I was there?"

"I did. I knew as soon as you entered the establishment."

"How?"

"I sensed your presence."

"Is that right?" McCoy scowled. "I thought you're only a touch telepath."

"I am. However, you have been in such close quarters with me these past nine months, sleeping next to me, I am rather attuned to..." He cleared his throat. "The concept is a little difficult to explain. And I know fully well what a 'toast' is."

"So why did you ask me?"

"You never hesitate to explain peculiar earth customs and idioms to me. You always have. I find it these days to be most comforting."

"You do?"

"And I propose we toast you and the baby." He held up his glass. McCoy clinked it with his, then set it down.

"Spock?"

"Yes, Doctor?"

McCoy reached into his coat pocket, drew out a small package and slid it across the table. "Happy Birthday."

Spock choked on his water.

"Didn't think I knew, did ya?" McCoy said.

"That is not why I wanted to go out to dinner."

"Well, consider it a happy coincidence."

"Perhaps."

"Do…uh…Vulcans celebrate their birthdays?"

"No. But Jim, has always insisted that mine be marked with some type of celebration."

"Yeah. Good ol' Jim, huh?" McCoy took a deep breath. "Well, open your gift."

Spock opened it to find a pair of gold cufflinks. "Doctor." He tutted at the man.

"What?"

"You did not need to go through the trouble and expense."

"We have the money now and it wasn't any trouble."

"You should not have done this."

"I wanted to." McCoy glanced away, out at the view on the Pike far down below. "Fine. Return them if you wish. That's okay with me. I just figured…you know…playing piano in a nightclub…looking so goddamned glamorous, you needed some cufflinks. They look better than buttons."

"Ah. In that case, I thank you."

Just then an orchestra began to play a familiar song. "I'll Get By," by the ink Spots.

**'I'll get by**

**as long as I**

**have you**

**for there be rain**

**and darkness too**

**I'll not complain**

**I'll see it through**

**poverty**

**may come to me**

**it's true**

**but what care I**

**say, I'll get by**

**as long as I**

**have you.'**

"Nice song," McCoy said. "It's a waltz. It'd be nice…if we could…uh…dance…"

"Together?"

"No!" McCoy blinked. "I uh…you know what I mean…" He cleared his throat. "Can't anyway…I mean, look at me."

Spock met his eyes. "I am."

McCoy turned positively crimson as he dropped his eyes. He picked up a piece of bread and busied himself with the task of spreading butter on the slice with a small silver knife. "I uh..." He began to giggle. "I thought you were a... uh...at the club..."

"I know what you thought."

"Not that it matters, or anything..."

"No?"

"You have a right to...be with whomever you wish. You know. I was just...wanted you to...be safe."

"Ah."

* * *

"Spock? Wanna go walk the pier?"

"Are you certain you are not too fatigued?"

"Yes, I'm certain. Plus the night air feels good and fresh. Come on, Spock."

They walked down Ocean Avenue, crossing Pine. "Should we not cross via the Jergin's Tunnel?" Spock asked him.

McCoy visibly shuddered. "No way."

They strolled through the Pike the area as usual crowded with servicemen and their dates. They moved along the 'Walk of a Thousand Lights' strung up over the walkway, shops on either side. The went past the 'Tilt a Whirl', the 'Dodgems Bumper Cars', the shooting gallery (with real rifles, something McCoy never failed to chuckle about, the 'insanity of it'), the 'Crazie Maize', 'Loof's Light a Line and Carousel', past the many cinemas, the bowling alley, past the looming Cyclone Racer that these days McCoy avoided looking at, through the midway and to the beach.

"This place...It's like the circus that never leaves town," McCoy mused.

On the Pine Avenue Pier, they found a wooden bench and sat down. "Are you warm enough?" Spock asked.

"Yes, thank you. Are you?"

"With you here in close proximity, I am."

McCoy huffed a little, which seemed to be a chuckle, it was difficult to ascertain. They stared at the many military ships in the distance. "I never realized in Earth history, that Long Beach was a major military installation. But it is, like the San Francisco of our day...or of...the future...maybe." He looked down at the water. "I guess, there's no more Starfleet, or there never will be."

"Doctor. There is no sense in upsetting yourself. There is nothing we can do. We must learn to adapt to this time."

"Marry Carolyn, Spock. She's a nice girl. She doesn't care if you're a Vulcan. In fact most women like that, find it sexy."

"She may be a nice girl, but I have no intentions of marrying her."

"You're gonna need some help with the baby."

Spock sighed and McCoy fell silent for long moments.

"Do you wish to return to the apartment?" Spock asked.

"No." Another long silence. "Thanks for bringing home the surgical items."

"You really cannot give birth in a hospital?" Spock found himself blurting out.

McCoy snorted. "Look at you, Spock. You're funny when you're illogical, you know that?" he said, bitterly. "If a hospital gets a hold of me and the baby, you know what they'll do? Pregnant man giving birth? Are you serious? They'll kill the baby, dissect it, study its poor little corpse, along with mine, trying to figure out how in the hell a man got pregnant in the first place. With their goddamned infantile science, their..." McCoy's voice broke. "I'm not letting a hospital in this day and age get ahold of my baby, you hear me?"

"I hear you. There is no need to shout."

McCoy sniffled. Spock drew closer to him. "Sorry...I won't let these people know the baby came from me. Everything else about this kid should be normal, humanoid. God I hope so, for the kid's sake. Imagine being an alien in this time? And I'm looking for a pediatrician. I have a few choices narrowed down that seemed okay, you can vet them later on. You gotta make sure you take the baby for check-ups and whatever vaccines they have in this time, because I won't be around to be it's physician."

"You appear to be so certain that you will die."

"Yeah. I am. My prognosis is poor." McCoy suddenly jerked in his seat. "Ow! Kid's really active right now. I feel the hand..." He undid his coat a few buttons. He pulled up his shirt, breaking out into a smile. "You can see the outline! Look at that tiny little hand, my little miracle!"

Spock looked over, along with the cold bumps on McCoy's bare skin, unmistakably, there it was. "Fascinating."

"Ready to break out of here, I can imagine. Here, Spock wanna touch the baby? Come on touch it!"

Spock hesitated, reluctant.

"Come on, Spock. I want you to check to see if it's doing alright."

Spock made contact with McCoy's bare abdomen. Suddenly he jerked his hand away.

"What's the matter, Spock? Is it okay? Spock?"

Spock cleared his throat. "Do you wish to know the sex of the child?"

"Yes!"

"She is female."

"A girl? So Carolyn was right? Goddamned women and their intuition! Good thing we have everything pink!"

Spock looked out at a warship on the bay. "The child is Vulcanoid."

"What? It almost sounded as if you said 'the child is Vulcanoid'."

"I did."

"What, you mean...our kidnappers were Romulans?! Oh my God!" McCoy pulled his coat closed and brought his hands to his face. "Romulans! That explains everything! Oh my God! The kid's gonna have little pointy ears and green blood! Are you sure?" he hissed.

"I do not believe the captor's were Romulan. However, I still cannot positively identify them. I am certain of the pointed ears, since it is a dominate trait, and of course the green blood, or rather I assume a mix of green and red factors, since the child will be three quarters human-"

"You mean half?"

"No, I mean three quarters human. One quarter Vulcan. Being as that I am half Human."

"What are you trying to say, Spock, is that you're the...?" McCoy's eyes widened and he whipped around. "Are you...she's yours?"

"And yours."

"You don't know for certain, I can see that by your eyes."

"I picked up Vulcanoid thought patterns, I cannot ascertain if she is of my lineage or not or what precise species she would be crossed with. I am sorry I can give you no further information. However, the captors did harvest my semen. I can only assume it was for you."

"Oh my God. They harvested your semen?"

_...his penis throbs, reaching full aching hardness. 'no…'_

"I would rather not discuss it at this point in time."

"So you think you might be the father?"

"There is a high probability."

McCoy leaned closer to Spock, burrowing into his pea coat clad arm. "Yours? Is that why I can't eat meat or chocolate?"

Spock nodded.

McCoy sighed. "You knew. You've known for..." His hand slowly caressed his abdomen. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I did not wish to worry you even more so."

"Now they're really gonna kill her, Spock, if these lunatics find out. I wish we could go home. I wish we could go home. Maybe like 'Dorothy' in the 'Wizard of Oz'. I could say it three times. I wish we could go home. I want to go home!"

"I know, so do I." McCoy began to weep; the audible cries, heartbreaking. "Shhhh." Spock went as far as to put his arm around the man, McCoy turned into him, arm winding around his waist.

"I want to go home, Spock," McCoy said.

"Leonard, perhaps we should..."

"She's not gonna have a chance in hell of surviving here," McCoy murmured into Spock's chest grabbing onto the lapels of the peacoat, snuggling closer. Spock found himself petting the man's hair. "Not a chance in hell. What about if she gets ill, gets injured, needs a doctor?"

Just then a group of men sauntered past. "Look at the queers!" they said, snickering.

McCoy twitched and seemed to be itching to jump up and punch them.

Spock held onto him until the thugs were far enough distance away. "Leonard, it is time to go home."

* * *

"Mail for you," the lobby attendant called out to Spock, as he and McCoy passed through on their way to the stairs.

Spock took it from him. "Thank you."

"What is it?" McCoy wondered.

"The sender is the United States Government," Spock replied.

"Oh…no."

Spock opened it and showed it to the doctor. "My number has come up. Draft notice."

"Drafted?! What? Where?"

"Into the U.S. Navy."

"You can't serve in the Navy, Spock! That's crazy!"

"I have one week to report or else risk arrest."

* * *

After that horrendously bumpy bus ride, him wincing at every jolt, down Ocean Avenue, letting him off at Cherry and walking over to Broadway, McCoy stood at the door under the canopy at the 'Harriman Jones Pharmacy'. The door jingled as he opened it. He nonchalantly strolled in.

The 'soda jerk' was assisting another customer, who smirked slightly at his presence. He gasped in shock at the sight of him-not because of last night where Spock had spent it plastered right up against him in bed, arms around him, hands firmly pressed against his bare belly, communicating with the Vulcanoid spawn, muttering to it in his native tongue (and Spock now unabashedly admitted the child was his), no it wasn't because of that.

It was the attire Spock was clad in. Completely in white. A smock-like shirt that buttoned on the shoulders and sides. White trousers and white hat.

He cleared his throat, recovered himself, had a look around the place, walking the store's length.

He marveled at the impeccably kept, shiny black and white tiled floor. A generous assortment of ancient medicinal items covered the tidy, meticulously organized shelves (probably Spock's doing), rows of glass bottles filled with liquids or pills. Wow. This stuff belonged in a museum. In fact he'd seen some of this stuff in Starfleet Medical's library in a glass case, the items looking a little worse for wear, being about 300 years old. Odd to see these similar artifacts-no, the supplies-all new and gleaming.

Benny Goodman's orchestra: "Love me or Leave Me" played on the jukebox in the corner and he had an odd, ridiculous vision...of he and Spock dancing a waltz together...

He shook his head clear of it.

He sat down on the end, in one of the ten black leather chairs facing a long gleaming metal counter. The set up was similar to the Woolworth's soda fountain but hell of a lot nicer. He'd been a little under the weather today, the baby kicking terribly, stabbing pains in his hips and every once in a while, what felt like a contraction. But he knew it was just an example of those 'Braxton Hicks' as most women felt in the weeks before labor. Still, it wouldn't be long now.

Spock went to the service side of the counter, ringing up the customer on the cash register. He placed the items in a white bag. The man nodded at him and left.

Spock met McCoy's eyes, then went over to the ice-cream machine. Minutes later he placed a vanilla malt in a tall glass with whipped cream and a cherry on top in front of him.

"How'd you know I was dying for one of these, Spock?"

"You are quite predictable."

McCoy immediately began slurping it down with the straw. Spock handed over the spoon. "It's good, Spock. Damned good. Probably the best I've ever had. Where'd you learn how to make these?"

Spock shrugged.

"You're a natural here, waiting on customers, making change and all. Here you wasted all that time in Starfleet, missing your calling."

"A job is a job," Spock replied with an odd air of defiance. "It puts food on our table. A roof over our heads."

McCoy smiled, Spock had been hanging around him much too long. "Yes it does. That's your uniform?" he asked, a little uneasily.

Spock looked down at himself, then back up. "You have a phobia of the color white."

McCoy's felt his mood darken. "It's uh...yeah. Not everything white, just sometimes...like this." He motioned at Spock, helplessly.

"The captors were clad similarly to myself. I do apologize for causing you anguish, Leonard. I must wear this attire, while working here."

"It's okay, I'm dealing with it. Not like you were expecting me. It's not just white, it's the smell of mold and clowns, basements, tunnels. And air raid sirens."

"No one appears to be enamored of air raid sirens. You are also afraid of cockroaches," Spock pointed out.

"No, just albino ones." McCoy popped the cherry into his mouth as he sure as hell wasn't afraid of these. "Ummm," he said. "Can't get enough of these things!"

"I have a whole container of cherries, if you wish to consume more."

McCoy chuckled. "No, no, no. They have to be on the malt, or it doesn't count."

Spock opened up the container, selected another cherry and placed it on top of the half drunk malt.

McCoy burst out in hysterical laughter. "Now that's power!" He held up the stem. "Watch what I can do!" He put the stem into his mouth, tied it into a knot with his tongue then seconds later removed it and held it up. "See? It's a knot, Spock? Isn't that exciting?"

"You seem unwell, Leonard. Why are you not at home, resting?"

"Felt like some fresh air, that's all. I was in the neighborhood, thought I'd swing by. Pay you a visit."

"Are you certain that you are alright?"

"I'm fine! Honestly! I'm doing great. Feeling fantastic. May I have a glass of water please?"

Spock placed one in front of him. "You should not have left the apartment. You must rest."

"I am, I am, stop nagging." McCoy changed the subject. "My phobias, well uh...Been meaning to talk to you about that. This ain't really the greatest place to do so. Are we alone in here, or is someone in back?"

"We may talk freely. What do you wish to discuss?"

"Well...PTSD manifests itself in many ways," McCoy continued. "We were under a huge amount of duress during our captivity."

"I agree."

"You've suffered from plenty of crazy nightmares."

"They have been beginning to abate, as of late."

"I've noticed. That's good."

Spock nodded in reply.

"Nightmares, unusual phobias, clingy behavior citing a lack of oxytocin most likely due to the post traumatic stress disorder. There's an instinctive need to replace it-my lack of testosterone to offset it, I think...well, I know that's why I've been touching you so much lately. Plus the added complication of pregnancy hormones making me a complete emotional mess."

"Indeed?"

"Hmmm. I hate to admit it but I was probably using Myrtle for the affection, the need to cuddle. Sure as hell wasn't about the sex!" McCoy laughed a little too loudly. "And then when she died, I kind of transferred it over to you. I wanted to...apologize about that."

"You came all the way over here, to apologize?"

"Yeah. I know you don't usually touch people that much. You and I have been...well uh...touching a lot and I know that makes you uncomfortable. And with Carolyn you-"

"Carolyn broke up with me."

McCoy snapped his head up. "'Broke up with you'? That's not a very Spock-like way of putting it."

"She severed our relationship."

"So now you actually admit you had a relationship? When did she-?"

"She came by earlier this afternoon, on her way out shopping."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Spock. Really, I am. I was hoping you two could have a life together...you know..." He patted his belly. "And baby makes three. She'd have made a wonderful parent. Well, she'll still be around, she'd offered to be the kid's godmother."

"She has met someone else. A young man of whom she is certain is the right match for her. A young man from Georgia. Apparently he resembles you a great deal."

"Really."

"Indeed. She was worried that she would upset me by her decision."

"And of course you aren't upset."

"I am not."

"Because you're a Vulcan," (he still whispered that, even if they were alone) "and you don't get upset, right?"

"I am not attracted to females."

McCoy took another huge swig of the malt. "I know, you prefer Vulcan women. Well, I'm sorry, there isn't gonna be any available, not unless you somehow manage to construct a goddamned spaceship, which might not be a bad idea, in fact. Take the kid and move to Vulcan-"

"I am not attracted to females of any kind," Spock said softly, leaning slightly over the counter.

The door jingled and McCoy jerked back in his seat as they'd gotten a little close during their conversation. Spock straightened up and went over to the customer to assist him in his pharmaceutical purchase.

As McCoy watched he had to admit he was envious that the Vulcan got to be around the medicinal atmosphere, even as a pharmacist/soda jerk and more importantly able to walk around and haunt and snoop around the corridors of the hospital any time he wished. What would it be like to practice medicine around these butchers? Of course, he'd want to help, rescue all those hapless patients...save them from these so called physicians.

Since history was already changed, he should get his license, maybe he could improve things a little, introduce these folks to more humane medical practices-

No, that was crazy. He was a dying man. Who had, literally, weeks or days left to live.

He felt another 'Braxton Hicks' contraction and he doubled over at it. The baby kicked frantically. "S'alright sweetheart," he mumbled, sipping his glass of water.

He watched, finishing his malt, as Spock rang up the man's purchase at the register, thanked him, then calmly watched the man leave the shop.

Spock returned to McCoy, this time standing next to him instead of the other side of the counter.

"You playing piano, tonight, Spock?"

"I am." Spock glanced up at the large clock overhead. "Would you like to wait here until I am able to accompany you back to the apartment?"

"You have another two hours left before your shift ends. Don't wanna sit that long. I got here on my own, I sure as hell can make it home alone. But thank you for your concern. Where's the men's room?"

"There is a solitary cubicle, right over there. Do you require my assistance?"

McCoy managed to get himself up. "Blessed privacy. No, don't need any help. I'll be right back."

He went to the toilet, then made his way, slowly, waddling back over to Spock.

"Would you like another malt?" Spock asked.

McCoy shook his head. "I'm fat enough."

"I believe your physique is most pleasing."

McCoy felt himself turn beet red at that. He took Spock's hand and squeezed it, feeling the brush of his mother's ring on Spock's pinky (he was relieved that the Vulcan hadn't sold it when they'd really needed the money). "See you later, huh?" He went to let go of the hand but Spock did not release it.

"Are you certain that you are...?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. If you don't knock it off, I'm gonna accuse you of worrying about me, again. I don't have that far to go."

He felt Spock stroke his hand with his thumb in small circles. "If you waited, I could accompany you."

"Would you stop fussing over me?! Seriously, I'm fine. I need to have supper fixed by the time you get home, anyway."

Spock seemed reluctant for him to go, but acquiesced. He let go of McCoy's hand.

The door jangled again, a customer entered, this time a woman.

"Leonard," Spock said, quickly.

"Huh?"

"Take the umbrella, it looks like it shall rain outside." Spock reached over picked up the umbrella from the stand and handed it over, before turning to the customer.

"See you soon, Spock." McCoy went out the door.

* * *

The bus ride home seemed even bumpier, the baby didn't like it, nor did his body and he grunted at the sharp pains.

"Kindly give your seat up to the pregnant lady," the bus conductor told him at the Ocean/Esperanza stop.

He sighed and stood, allowing the woman to sit down. "Thank you," she told him.

He felt so breathless that all he could manage was a nod. Well, there wasn't far to go, just down Ocean past Pine. The bus resumed it's sojourn, him holding desperately onto the rail. At an especially huge pothole, he cried out, clamping his mouth down around the sound, as he felt another pain in his abdomen.

The pregnant woman tugged on his trench coat. "Are you alright, Sir?"

"I'm fine, thanks." He managed a smile. "Bus could use some suspension."

"It's one of the older ones." She rubbed her own pregnant belly, noticed him staring. "Won't be long!"

"When are you due, by the way?" he asked her.

"Today! I'm supposed to already be in the hospital. My husband's in the Navy. But this is my first baby, and it'll probably be late. Or so says my mother."

The bus, bumped again, he grimaced.

"Maybe you should sit down," the woman said.

"No, no," he replied. "My stop is coming up...now. Well, good luck to you!"

As soon as he got off the bus, at Ocean and Cedar, he realized he'd left the umbrella on board. Dammit. Well, Spock was gonna have his head on a platter now. Those things were expensive.

As he got into the lobby of the Sovereign, he suddenly wished the Vulcan wasn't due to be playing at the club tonight. He needed the Spock home with him, this evening, all night. But it was a ridiculous idea, Spock couldn't just stay home (not again without getting canned) even though there had been something about him this evening that suggested he would have. Spock would come home, maybe stay a half hour, hurriedly (for Spock) getting dressed and scarfing his supper down and then have to leave again.

He really needed to have that supper fixed.

He stopped at the base of the stairs. He didn't know how in the hell he was going to manage going up all those flights. Coming down had been okay. God was he ever an idiot for even thinking he could go visit the Vulcan. He remained there, at the base of them, grimacing, rubbing his midsection, swearing under his breath, and some curses not so softly, when a familiar young lady sauntered up.

"Leonard!" It was Carolyn. He must have seemed flustered, because she started when she saw him.

"Hi, Honey! Long way up." He motioned. "Hope you're strong enough to carry me!"

She patted his abdomen, mostly covered by his trench coat. "Would you believe the elevator is working again? I saw the operator just now."

"Well, all be damned!" he said, beads of perspiration erupting on his face. He wiped his mouth with his hand.

They went over to the lift, and sure enough the operator, was holding the door open, beckoning them inside. A rather claustrophobic, rickety thing, with a cage. They boarded, then the door shut them in.

The operator said, "Where to, please?"

Carolyn pointed to him. "Up at the very top. Tenth floor, please."

In between the 4th and 5th floors the lift suddenly jerked and halted.

"Sorry about that, just be a moment," the operator said. McCoy nodded, saw Carolyn do the same. He watched the operator adjust a few knobs, seemingly perplexed. "I'm going to have to call the lobby." The man picked up the emergency phone. "Strange, the phone doesn't appear to be working."

"Mind if I sit down for a while?" McCoy heard himself saying, a little too loudly. "Hot in here." He slid down to the floor.

"Don't worry Sir, Madame. Just be a few moments."

* * *

Precisely one half hour till shift ending, he began sweeping the black and white tiled floor. He noted that Leonard had seemed particularly restless, almost frantic in the eyes, but was downplaying it in his overly casual mannerisms. Something seemed off.

* * *

Carolyn moved to sit next to him on the floor. "Sir," she said to the operator. "What's the status on gettin' us goin'!"

McCoy snickered at that. "Baby, you'd make a great first officer." He held onto his abdomen and grunted.

"Leonard..." Carolyn stared at him. "Are you in pain?" He nodded back at her. "Sir, you gotta get us out of here!"

"Just be a few moments, Madam, someone will come to let us out."

"Now how the hell do you know," she snapped. "You can't even get through to let them know we're in here!"

McCoy giggled. "Now you sound like the Chief Medical Officer."

"What's the matter with your friend?" the operator asked. "Appendicitis or something?"

"Something like that."

"By the look on his face," the operator joked. "he's about to have kittens!"

"Har de har har," Carolyn said. "How about working on getting us freed! That's an order!"

"Now you're the captain," McCoy said, giggling uncontrollably by now.

* * *

At precisely six o' clock the shift ended.

Spock locked up the pharmacy/soda fountain, made certain everything was spic and span for tomorrow morning. The sky darkened and he heard it begin to rain outside, in fact the clouds had seemed rather ominous all day. Unfortunately, he had given Leonard the umbrella.

He went to the locker room in back, pulled off his white cap, changed into his knitted one. He unbuttoned one side of his white uniform smock, then donned his shirt, putting on the cufflinks McCoy had bought him. He slid out of the white uniform pants, then stepped into his own. He put on and retied his shoes, then the pea coat.

A loud clap of thunder outside...and he felt...

Leonard.

* * *

Inside the elevator, the overhead lightbulb suddenly blew out with a pop.

McCoy along with Carolyn and the attendant were cast into complete blackness and dead silence. The only audible noise was the creaking of the shaft they were in and a faint thump, thump, thump of a helicopter hovering outside the building.

Then...there was the unmistakable wail of the air raid siren.

Even though he'd now heard it many times, the rising and falling shriek sent chills throughout his body.

"You've gotta be kidding me," he whispered.

* * *

Spock had shut the door of the pharmacy, locking it and pulled the shutter down when he heard the wail.

The town had immediately shifted into 'black out mode'. Street lamps outside extinguished. Cars traveled past on the darkened street with only the running lights. He knew from previous experience that getting home during an air raid would be treacherous.

He also would be forced to walk home, in the now pouring rain, the bus service at this time would be either delayed or nonexistent.

_...water...water...everywhere..._

Also he would need to avoid the air-raid marshal, the volunteer in uniform, usually directing passers by to an underground shelter, which according to the city ordinance, anyone out walking was required to take shelter.

He glanced up to see a helicopter, low in the sky, a loud thump, thump, thump overhead. It hovered for long moments, then moved on.

Then there was a low hum from an assortment of propellered warplanes.

They must be expecting another assault on the coastline.

He thrust his hands into the pockets of his coat. Heavy raindrops dotted his knitted beanie. As quickly as he could he began the twenty minute journey home.

* * *

After a wait of what seemed like an eternity but was probably only five minutes, the light came back on but much dimmer than it was. The elevator powered up and lurched into movement.

"Fascinating," McCoy mumbled.

"Air raid warning," the operator said, "so I'll have to take you down into the basement. Sorry it's the rules. And if you need a doctor, I'm sorry Sir, but it's gonna be a nightmare trying to-"

"No, on both counts." McCoy gritted his teeth. "Let us out at the next floor, please."

"We're going down."

"That's fine, the next stop." He glared at the operator to let the man know he meant business.

"Alright, alright," the man said, "but don't tell my boss." The next floor, 3rd floor, he opened the door. "Staircase is right over-"

"I know where the hell it is!" McCoy snapped, grabbing Carolyn's hand.

The operator saluted and the door shut.

McCoy stood at the landing of the stairs and took a deep breath. Another pain hit, a big one this time, and he grunted.

Carolyn squeezed his hand. "I'll help you. You're gonna need to get to a hospital." She motioned at the telephone at the end of the corridor. "Should I call an ambulance?"

"No. Wait for Spock," he said. "He should be home within the hour."

They made their way, albeit slowly, up the stairs.

* * *

He quickly darted down 1st Street. He'd bypassed the corner of Cherry and Ocean, where he'd spotted the marshal funneling pedestrians into the tunnel on the park-side corner (which led to the beach).

If he was caught-and the marshals carried firearms-he would not be able to return home until the raid was over.

The rain increased. He was now completely soaked.

_water, water, water, falling from the ceiling, soaking him, he cannot breathe, he cannot breathe..._

* * *

Carolyn opened her apartment with her key, pushing him inside. He lay down on Myrtle's old bed, which was probably now Anne Jolly's, the new roommate. Carolyn pulled off his shoes, his trench coat and glasses, laying those carefully down on the nightstand, then loosened and removed his tie.

"So this is what labor feels like," McCoy said, wincing at another contraction.

"How you doin'? I mean, is the pain bad, or tolerable right now?"

"On the scale of one to ten, it's about a six or a seven. I've experienced worse when injured, but even then it's usually a constant thing, not this intermittent..." he paused as another contraction hit. "Owww."

"I'll get you a glass of water." She went to the kitchen and returned with one. He took a couple sips, nodded his thanks. She set the glass down on the nightstand and began unbuttoning his shirt.

"Usually when I get naked with a woman it's under much more favorable circumstances," he somehow managed to joke, the sweat pouring down his face.

She laughed. "You just relax, Leonard, I'll look after you." She finished unbuttoning his shirt, and removed it.

"Thanks, Baby." Her hands moved to undo his pants, but he stopped her and did it himself, leaving them unbuttoned. "Don't take 'em off, though you probably are ichin' to get into my pants," he joked again, snickering and she playfully swatted at him.

"Shouldn't we be timing your contractions?"

He held up his wristwatch to show her he'd already been doing so. "They're happening approximately five minutes apart. As soon as Spock gets here... I'll have him take me to our apartment and perform the C-section."

"What are you talking about? Aren't you going to the hospital?"

"No. He's performing the surgery."

"Are you...are you crazy, Leonard? He's not a doctor, is he?"

"No."

Carolyn shook her head. "Leonard, I'm calling a doctor."

"In an air raid?"

She scowled. "Fine. We wait for Spock."

* * *

He reached First Street at Gaviota. This area seemed deserted and in the dark he moved with ease. He walked faster and faster. Rain came down in sheets.

* * *

The door opened. Carolyn and McCoy turned to find Anne in the doorway. "Air Raid! Thought you'd be in the basement!" she cheerfully called out till she spotted McCoy in bed with Carolyn. "Oh..."

"Find Spock!" Carolyn ordered. "He's out in those streets someplace, on his way home, or he's caught in a shelter, one of the two. You need to tell him Leonard's in labor! Be careful and don't get caught!"

Anne nodded and ran out.

"Anne knows?" McCoy muttered.

"Does it matter anymore?"

"No." He gritted his teeth and gasped as another contraction hit. Carolyn, sitting on the edge of the bed, stroked his shoulder to try to sooth him. "They're getting stronger...Carolyn distract me..." He glanced over at the script for her play, sitting on the nightstand: 'Our Town'. "How's rehearsals going?"

She picked up her playbook and chuckled. "Fine. I'm supposed to be there right now. Air raid or no air raid!"

"Oh, sorry about that. You should go!"

"Hell no!" she said. "They'll understand that my father was ill."

"Your father?" She gave him a look. "I'm not old enough to be your father...couldn't you say your brother or something?"

"You're plenty old enough, but fine if it makes you feel better, you're gonna be the new mommy so you win!"

"Is that..." He grunted. "Is the play where you met your new boyfriend?"

She blushed at that. "Oh...yes, my young man. He looks a lot like you. In fact he could be a younger version of you. You should meet him."

"Hmm. I don't know...I'd probably wonder what his intentions were."

"He's a complete gentleman! Just like you. Very sweet. He's playing 'George'."

"Alright, I'll take your word for it."

"How's Spock doing, anyway? I laid the news on him, kinda sudden, today."

McCoy rubbed his abdomen. "He'll manage."

"You know when I told him I found someone else...he was his usual stoic self, but his eyes...I wanted to hug him...they were so sad."

"His eyes are always sad."

"You know what? I've never seen Spock smile, the whole time I've known him. I know he's alien, with those adorable pointed ears...but is he like us?"

"He is and he isn't. His mother is Human. Sometimes he strikes me how Human he can be. But in many ways, mostly on the inside, physiologically, he is different. And his kind, they pride themselves on their logic, their dignity, their restraint...but he feels. He feels very profoundly on the inside. Maybe more so than we do." McCoy rubbed his belly again, as a contraction hit, but as long as Carolyn kept distracting him, it wasn't so bad. "Emotions are so...precious to Vulcans, that they protect them...like a glass figurine, when you move apartments you don't want to damage your prized crystal angel you have sitting there...so you wrap it securely in newspaper or cotton or bubble wrap?"

"Bubble wrap?"

"Never mind. You can read his extremely subtle body language, or at least you can if you've been around him as long as I have. Or you can see the emotions in his eyes. They're sad, but extremely expressive."

"Yours are electric and expressive. Blue. Like my young man."

"Everybody's got blue eyes around here. It's like Spock's the odd one out with his dark eyes. Complete opposite to my century."

"Are they rare on Mars?"

McCoy laughed. "Yeah."

At another of his contractions, Carolyn said quickly: "Spock. He's kind of like having a cat," Carolyn said, pointing at her kitten, 'Stardust Melody'.

"If you want to put it like that. Back home I used to constantly bait him...about his lack of showing visible emotions. It's just been lately that I've grown to understand him more. I wouldn't have him any other way. I feel very close to him...somehow..."

"You should tell him that. How you feel about him."

"I don't know."

Another contraction hit.

* * *

At the intersection with Alamitos Boulevard, he broke into a run.

In the near darkness he could see very little. An uneven stone in the sidewalk, high enough to catch his shoe, he could not compensate for balance and it was too late.

He fell hard.

How odd. The accident on the oil rig did not wind him this much.

He lay sprawled in the middle of the road. His vision hazy, he fought the slip into unconciousness.

* * *

"Fuck!" McCoy recoiled from the pain. "Goddammit!" Carolyn held his hand throughout the increasingly more painful contraction and rubbed a icy wet cloth over his head, combing his hair with her fingers. "Sorry, Carolyn...don't mean to... swear like that in front of you-"

"Bullshit!" she replied. "You sure as hell do! It hurts!"

"Spock...where the hell is he? Carolyn...distract me. Want to run your lines?"

"Really?"

"Yeah, Honey."

She shook her head again and handed him the script. "Okay, I need to learn the last act in the book. I'm 'Emily' and it's my death scene." She handed him his glasses, he put them on.

"How does she die?"

Carolyn hesitated for a moment. "Uh...she gets hit by a truck."

* * *

He opened his eyes. He could not move. Paralyzed.

White. Everywhere. White walls, white tile.

Cold.

He was completely naked, lying on some sort of metal slab.

Oh no.

* * *

"Carolyn," McCoy said. "I'm serious. Distract me. Let's run your lines."

"You're kidding!"

"Lets go."

"You'll have to cue me in...read some of the 'stage manager's' part," she said.

He nodded and read: "They're waiting. They're waiting for something that they feel is comin'. Something important and great."

"I think my first line is: 'hello'."

"Yes, that's right," McCoy prompted. " 'Hello Emily.'"

"Hello, Mother Gibbs! It's raining!"

"They'll all be gone soon, just rest yourself."

"It seems thousands and thousands of years since I...Papa remembered that was my favorite hymn. Oh, I wish I'd been here a long time. I don't like being new here. How do you do, Mr. Stimpson?"

"How do you do, Emily."

"Mother Gibbs, George and I have made that farm into just the best place you ever saw. We thought of you all the time. We wanted to show you the new barn and a great long cement drinking fountain for the stock. We bought that out of the money you left us."

_'listen, emily, i'm going to tell you why i'm not going to agricultural school. i think that once you've found a person that you're very fond of...i mean a person who's fond of you, too, and likes you enough to be interested in your character...well, i think that's just as important as college is, and even more so. that's what i think...'_

_'i think it's awfully important, too._

_'spock.'_

_'yes, leonard?'_

_'if i do improve and make a big change...would you be..i mean...could you be…mine?'_

_'i am now and always have been, yours.'_

_'so i guess this is an important talk we've been having.'_

_'yes.'_

* * *

A figure stood over him, clad a white robe, white fencing mask, with a crease in the center of it. On the robe, the familiar white interlocking triangles.

With everything he had, all of the strength left in him, he reached up and pulled off the mask.

It revealed the face of McCoy.

* * *

"Spock..." McCoy moaned. "Spock...where are you...Spock..." He cried out. "Ooooh!" He started muttering the periodic table of the elements as a mantra.

"Shhhh...what are the contractions timing at?"

"Three minutes...apart." He began shivering uncontrollably. "Cold."

Carolyn covered him with another warm blanket. "Leonard, I think I should at least try to call St. Mary's Hospital. They'll send somebody out. "If you can't give birth the normal way and the baby can't get out, she'll die!"

"I know...you're right...if he isn't here in five more minutes, then call them." She stood up and he grabbed Carolyn's hand. "No! Not yet..."

"You know for a physician you're taking a big risk, you goddamned idiot!"

* * *

He blinked.

And found himself back on the darkened street. A young man stood over him, holding a flashlight. "Are you alright, Sir?"

"Yes," he said, faintly.

"There's no way you should be, I hit you pretty damned hard. I mean, I could have killed you!"

"You hit me?"

"With my car over there. See the damage? You came out of nowhere, flipped over my windshield. Can barely see, it's a blackout. Sorry, well... I was drivin' like a maniac. Trying to get from my job at the Cooper Arms, over to rehearsal at the Long Beach Community Players. I've got the lead in 'Our Town'. These air raids are a bitch aren't they? Damn... that siren never stops giving me the creeps! I'm an elevator operator at the Cooper, y'know to pay my rent. Say, are you okay? Why are you looking at me like that? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

"Fascinating."

* * *

McCoy lolled his head on the pillow. "Carolyn..."

"Call an ambulance?"

"Yeah...he ain't coming. Goddamit, he ain't coming." He wanted to scream out at the top of his lungs: 'Where the FUCK are you, you goddamned, green blooded, pointy eared hobgoblin!' but he refrained.

She opened her front door.

* * *

He clambered to his feet. "Thank you, young man, I am quite undamaged."

"Really need to get you to a hospital-I can drive you there-hey, where ya goin'?"

* * *

"Wait, Carolyn!" he yelled. "Come back! Wait! He's here!"

"Where?"

"He's coming! I can feel him!"

"You're insane! Stay here, I'm calling St. Mary's-"

"Don't! He's here! He's bounding up the stairs!"

"The hell he is! You're delirious! I'm calling the doctor!"

"He's here! Just a couple more flights and-"

Spock appeared in the open doorway. "Leonard?"

McCoy broke out in hysterical laughter.

* * *

Spock ran up the stairs with McCoy cradled in his arms.

"How romantic..." the man murmured, snickering.

* * *

Spock helped McCoy into the apartment, the doctor gritting his teeth, and sat him down on the bed.

"God, Spock, you're soaking wet!"

"It is raining outside."

"Go and sterilize all the surgical equipment. Scalpel, clamps, needles, syringes, anything metal, rubber tube for catheter. As hot as you can boil that water. Hurry," McCoy commanded.

Spock nodded and darted over to the kitchen.

While he waited, McCoy made himself comfortable (all things considering) on the bed.

Spock returned to McCoy's side, "The surgical items are boiling."

"Good. Give it about, ten minutes, a little more. Give you time to prep me. Go get all the towels from the cabinet, every single one of 'em. There's going to be a fair amount of blood. Get those two metal tubs. One's to wash the baby. The other for the placenta."

Spock nodded and did so, setting the tubs on the kitchen table, laying the towels on the bed next to McCoy.

"My great, great, great, great grandmother gave birth at home like this," McCoy muttered, his head tilting back to stare at the ceiling before another strong contraction hit. "Oh…God…ohhh shit…"

Spock pulled off McCoy's undershirt, dropped that on the floor also. He reached down, slid off McCoy's already unbuttoned trousers, and underwear.

"Leave my socks on," McCoy whispered. "It's so cold…"

Spock pulled over the blanket, to keep the doctor warm for at least a few moments, then leaned over him. "Leonard. Look at me."

"Yeah?"

"You feel no pain."

McCoy gritted his teeth. "The hell I don't."

Spock touched the side of the man's face, fingers reaching the psi points. "There is no pain." He caressed his fingers down the side of McCoy's face ever so gently as he removed his hand. "No pain."

McCoy waited a moment, he felt no more pain, but could move his body: "Hey…" He broke out into a smile. "Vulcan nerve block?"

Spock smirked back. "I shall be a moment to scrub."

"Make sure your hands are scrubbed all the way up to the elbows before you touch those surgical items," McCoy called after him, reaching for the syromamiter, wrapping it expertly around his right arm.

Spock returned with the surgical supplies, wrapped in a towel. "Ready. Should I insert a catheter?"

McCoy threw the blanket off of him, reached over to grab the towels, placing a few underneath him. "Later, if I survive. My blood pressure's up. Let's get this baby out. Now."

Spock spread more towels under the doctor's legs. He took another moment to make sure everything was ready. He snapped on the medical gloves.

"Deep enough through the abdominal wall," McCoy reminded him. "Get through to the uterus. Break the amnionic sac with the scalpel. It's gonna be a mess. Don't accidentally nick the baby. Reach inside me and gently pull the baby out. Wipe the baby off with a towel and suction the mouth, make sure it's breathing. Alright?"

"Yes."

"Then you're gonna clamp the umbilical cord and cut it. Then we'll deal with the placenta."

Spock held up the scalpel. "Let me know if you feel pain."

"Make the incision."

Spock did so, pushing the scalpel into the skin. "Any discomfiture?"

McCoy grimaced but said: "Keep going. Careful."

Spock broke the amnionic sac, and as McCoy had said it would, clear fluid mixed with blood soaked the bed. Spock reached inside the incision and gently slid out the baby. McCoy closed his eyes and moaned softly as he did so. Spock cleaned off the infant, cut the blue umbilical cord attached to it's navel and as quick as he could, suctioned the mouth. "It is a girl," he told McCoy.

"Ohhh," McCoy said. "A girl!"

"She's not breathing," Spock informed him.

"Get that airway clear. Hurry. Get it clear."

Spock cleaned out the mouth, suctioned more fluid away. Finally the airway was clear and the child began to cry. McCoy heard it and looked up and made a noise of a relieved half hysterical giggle, half sob. "Spock! You did it!"

Spock wrapped the infant up in a thick baby blanket, carefully holding her, protecting the weak neck, and marveled at her for a moment. The child stopped crying, simply stared back at him with huge eyes. Spock covered McCoy's opened midsection with a fresh towel. "We did it," he said. He handed the child over to McCoy's outstretched arms, then sat down on the bed, next to McCoy's head.

McCoy was grinning madly. "She's beautiful!"

Spock reached over and caressed Leonard's face. "Look at the ears."

McCoy did, tracing the delicate pointed ear tips with a finger. He searched Spock's face.

Spock smiled at him, a rare true smile, showing his gleaming teeth. "She looks just like me."

"Come'ere, Spock."

Spock leaned over to within inches of the man's face, then even closer to place a delicate kiss on the man's lips.

They broke apart and McCoy's eyes clouded up with tears of joy. He leaned over to kiss the black fuzz on the baby's head. "Spock. Clamp the umbilical cord on the baby, then cut it."

"Should I not remove the placenta?"

"Never mind…Don't bother. I'm dying anyway. There's no way for you to suction out the blood and fluids. No way to stop it…"

Spock darted back to McCoy incision. "I will remove the placenta now."

"Don't...don't Spock…" McCoy muttered, still stroking the baby's head. "Don't…"

Against McCoy's protests, Spock slid his hand into the incision, felt for the placenta, drew it out. Almost immediately, McCoy's body began hemorrhaging blood.

"I told you so," McCoy said, his eyelids lowering. "Spock…take care of little Myrtle."

"Myrtle?"

"Myrtle Aiko McCoy Spock. Do you like the name?"

"Yes."

"Spock," McCoy kissed Myrtle's head again. "I'm going into hypovolemic shock. I Love you…" He slipped into unconsciousness.

Spock watched as McCoy's head fell forward, his forehead touching the baby's.

He darted out of the door. "Carolyn!" he screamed out. "Call an ambulance!"

She turned and froze for a second, then ran down the hallway to the phone at the end.

He came back into the apartment, sat down on the bed, next to McCoy. He gently took the child out of McCoy's slack arms.

The door burst open, it was Carolyn. "Spock, the doctor's on his way—" She stopped, mouth agape. "Leonard!"

Spock did not bother to disguise the anguish on his features. "Carolyn, please leave."

Carolyn took in the scene, McCoy on the bed, blood everywhere, Spock covered in McCoy's blood. "Is the baby alright?"

"Carolyn, no! Please go."

Carolyn rushed to Leonard's side. "Leonard?"

"Carolyn…"

The door opened up again, and a man in a white coat entered, looked down at the lifeless McCoy on the bed. "There's the patient, I gather."

"I wanted an ambulance," Spock replied. "My friend requires emergency surgery. He is dying."

"I'll be the judge of that," the doctor said. "Madame," he said to Carolyn. "You're going to have to step outside." She fumed, glanced at McCoy, then left the room. "What happened to this man? Did you find him like this?"

"Doctor. My friend has just given birth to a child. This is a botched C-section."

"That's impossible. Men do not give birth."

"See for yourself," Spock replied.

The doctor lifted up the towel covering McCoy, then dropped it. "I'll just go summon the ambulance. Be a moment." He left the room.

Spock stared down at the baby in his arms.

The door burst open again, revealing two large uniformed policemen, guns drawn. The baby let out a cry at the sudden loud noise.

"Put the baby down. You're coming with us," one of the policemen said.

"I cannot leave my child."

"Put the baby down." They aimed their guns at his head. "On the bed."

He did nothing.

"You're gonna get a bullet right between the eyes if you don't cooperate," the cop told him.

"My child shall become too chilled if I lay her on the bed. She requires the warmth of my body."

"I'll take the baby!" Carolyn called out from the doorway.

"Madame, you'll have to leave," the cop informed her.

"I'll go with you, if you let the lady take my baby," Spock said.

The two policemen looked at each other. They nodded. Carolyn ran up to Spock and gently took the baby from his arms.

The policemen roughly pulled Spock over and placed handcuffs on him. "Madame," the officers said to Carolyn. "The baby needs to go to the hospital."

They led Spock down the corridor, as he was, covered in McCoy's blood.

He held his head up in dignity as he walked, among the curious stares and whispers of onlookers streaming out from the other apartments.

He was aware, this very probably would be the last time he would see McCoy and their child again.

* * *

_he stands...at the municipal cemetery...flowers in hand, the baby in the crook of his arm._

_mccoy comes towards him, dressed entirely in white. the man's face seems relaxed, years younger. 'my funeral was lovely, spock.'_

_'it was.'_

_'why'd you go through all that trouble? all those people in that church. i told you to throw my ashes into into the pacific ocean.'_

_'i wished to suitably memorialize you. i wished you to know how much you meant to me. how much i love you.'_

_'i know...spock.' mccoy's gaze travels down to the babe. 'she's beautiful. i wish i could touch her, hold her.'_

_'so do i.'_

_'wish i could touch you.'_

_'yes,' he says._

_more figures congregate behind mccoy, their faces are theatrical tragedy masques. _

_mccoy turns around, 'no! you promised! longer!'_

_they beckon._

* * *

ON TO THE NEXT CHAPTER...


	9. Epilogue

**(thank you for your lovely reviews and for reading my story!)**

**EPILOGUE**

**CAPTAIN'S LOG STARDATE 2237.01**

**"Lieutenant Sulu and I have managed to breach the portal on the other side of the abandoned medical facility. The portal has transported us to Earth, in the early twentieth century. We currently are searching for the location of Commander Spock and Dr. McCoy.**

"Captain," Sulu said, holding up his tricorder. "I have Dr. McCoy, straight ahead. Inside that building."

"What about Mr. Spock?"

"I'm sorry, Sir. I only am receiving Dr. McCoy's biosignal."

Kirk turned around and looked. "Harrimann Jones Hospital. Let's go, Sulu."

They crossed the street and entered the building.

"Phaser on stun, Mr. Sulu."

They entered a courtyard, dominated by a huge brick fountain. Passing staff seemed not to pay them much attention. It was only when they entered the hospital waiting room that a nurse stopped them. Sulu stunned the woman with his phaser, then held up his tricorder. "I get his readings from that room, right there."

A 20th century policeman stood in front of the door, guarding it. Sulu aimed and stunned the man and they entered.

They found McCoy, unconscious on a bed, clad in a white medical gown, a sheet pulled up to his waist. Tubes ran from his neck, arm and torso, to containers of fluid. "Oh my God, Bones," Kirk whispered. He lay a hand on his friend. "Bones, wake up." He shook the man. "Bones! Wake up."

Bones opened his eyes, but didn't see him.

Jim shook the man again. "Bones! It's me, Jim!"

Bones now seemed to look at him. "Jim?" he said, plaintively. "Is it really you?"

"Bones, where's Spock? Bones, where's Spock?" Kirk was almost afraid to hear the answer.

"He's...uh...at home..."

"Home?"

Bones lifted up an arm, or at least tried to. "Yeah...The Sovereign...Apartments...but he's playing tonight..." Suddenly his mouth contorted into an expression of pure horror as he felt down at his abdomen. "The baby! They've taken my baby!" he screamed out. "My baby! Where is she?"

Sulu, stationed at the door, phaser drawn, looked in from the hallway. "We have to hurry, Captain."

"Scan for Spock, in a wider radius, twenty five miles." Kirk pulled out the IV lines from the wrist and neck, putting pressure on the wound when it started bleeding. He found some medical tape and cotton and put those on the man. He pulled off the sheet covering McCoy. He checked to see where the third line was coming from, realizing it was a catheter. He glanced up at Sulu, briefly, then grimaced as he pulled it out.

McCoy cried out in what sounded like pain. He wailed: "My baby...where's my baby? They took my baby... where is she?"

Kirk grabbed Bones by the shoulders. "Bones! Listen to me! There is no baby."

"Huh? I was pregnant, in labor...Spock delivered... my baby."

That couldn't be. Kirk shook his head at that chilling news. "There is no baby. We have to get you back to the Enterprise."

"The...Enterprise?"

"Yes, Bones. You're being rescued. There's no baby! You're hallucinating."

"No baby...?"

"No baby, Bones."

Bones appeared downright dismayed at that. He nodded, a tear running down his cheek. "I could have sworn it was real."

"Captain!" Spock suddenly appeared at the door, a newborn baby cradled in his arms. "It is very gratifying to see you again."

Kirk stared at the child, then nodded at Spock. He reached down, picking up the once again unconscious McCoy.

* * *

Kirk, Sulu, Spock, McCoy and the baby, went through the portal and vanished.

As they'd passed by a newspaper stand on the corner of Cherry and Broadway, the headline rang out: '**Local Man gives Birth to Baby!'**

* * *

"Fascinating."

The medical facility proved deserted. The labs, the equipment, the inhabitants, the other victims, were gone.

Nothing to ever give the hint who had resided there, nothing to suggest what type of beings they really had been. Nothing to hint where they had disappeared to.

Since Kirk had Bones cradled in his arms, Sulu flipped open his communicator. "Enterprise. Five to beam up."

* * *

Dr. M'Benga shooed Kirk and Spock out of the ICU then commenced operating on McCoy. He removed the womb and ovaries (and nearly losing him, as he'd coded twice). McCoy's testosterone production was at nearly nil, the prostate and hypothalamus glands disabled. After he was stable, and while he had the CMO under, he set about hormone therapies, restoring McCoy to a more natural state for a human male.

Meanwhile, Dr. Sanchez focused his efforts on the studying the days old newborn infant.

Kirk stood with Spock, silently watching the examination.

"Commander Spock," Sanchez said, "the child is biologically yours and Dr. McCoy's. No other DNA is present. She's female, as you know. She is completely healthy. Seven pounds two ounces. Twenty three inches long. One fourth Vulcan, three fourth's Human. Nurse Chapel is designing a formula to meet the infant's unique nutritional needs."

Spock nodded his thanks and stood quietly as Sanchez ran the small Type II scanner over him. "You have no residual lasting physical effects," Sanchez told him. "Now as for the psychological damage from capture-"

"I am able to deal with the residual effects," Spock said quickly. Sanchez finished scanning him. He went over and retrieved the infant.

"They've only been gone a week," Kirk said, aghast. "What the hell happened to you two?" He stared at Spock, still clad in early twentieth century attire, the shirt covered in dried blood, cradling the quiet infant, not quite believing his eyes. "You were in route to the conference, then your shuttle suddenly disappeared. We finally tracked you to a sector of space lightyears from where you were."

"You found our shuttlecraft?"

"Yes. Eventually. Sitting in the facility's dock. The infant, how did you acquire it?"

"McCoy," Spock glanced down at the baby, seemingly in awe, "was pregnant for nine months."

"But you've been gone only a week!"

"They've actually aged ten months," Sanchez replied.

"You were on old Earth for ten months?"

"Nine months, Jim. Evidently we were in the captor's custody for one Standard month. I lost track of time while in their custody."

"And Bones...pregnant? Impregnated by whom?"

"Our captors with my DNA."

"Why?"

"I do not know."

"Who were your captors?"

"Again, I do not know."

"Think, Mr. Spock!" Jim gritted his teeth. "Who were they?"

"Captain...I do not know who or even what they were. I can only surmise that they were humanoid. They never spoke directly to us...though I have a vague recollection of communicating with them...they were robed in white. They wore a symbol I could not identify: two interlocking triangles. Their 'faces' were covered by grotesque white masques, theatrical in nature. I have never experienced such a modus operandi from any species we've yet encountered."

Kirk thought for a moment, then went to the wall comm. "Bridge."

"Scott here, Sir."

"Have Misters Sulu, Leslie and Connors, beam aboard the facility on the double. I want to find out precisely who those captor's identities were."

"Acknowledged, Captain."

"Kirk out." He turned back to Spock. "Bones had a C-Section in an early twentieth century hospital?"

"I performed the operation. Until there was a complication. I am assuming we were actually back in time?"

"You were. They had the portal trained on 1942, Earth, California. I don't like the look of things." Kirk glanced over at the closed ICU where M'Benga still had the door locked. "Bones let you perform a C-Section on him?"

"Affirmative."

"He must have been desperate."

"We were."

Kirk was about to grill the Vulcan more, when the door opened, and M'Benga appeared, wiping his face with a towel. "He's stable. Waking up."

They beelined it for the ICU.

* * *

The smell hit him…medicinal...before he opened his eyes. Blurry. Everything was grey or white, he couldn't make out the specific colors. But the smell...the clinical odor, smelled like sickbay...like home...He'd imagined he'd seen Jim...he'd wanted to go home so badly now he was...but it couldn't be...it was all a dream.

Figures stood over him, blurry, the voices muffled, sounded like Jim, M'Benga, Chapel, Spock...

oh God the captors, they had him again...tricking him...making him believe he was home...how cruel...

He screamed, then retched and vomited over the side...

* * *

"Shit," Dr. M'Benga hissed, leaping into action.

"What is it, Doctor?" Kirk demanded. "What's the matter with him?"

"He's got some residual morphine which is messing with his system. I thought it would be cycled out by now. Nurse Burke!" Burke appeared with the hypo. M'Benga did a quick visual inspection of the dosage then slammed it into McCoy's arm.

"Morphine?" Kirk asked.

"20th Century sedation," M'Benga explained.

"He also cannot see us," Spock said.

"What do you mean?" Kirk asked him.

Spock shifted the baby over, reached into his coat pocket, drawing out McCoy's glasses, holding them up. "He has a substantial visual impairment, does he not?"

M'Benga nodded. "His Retinax wore off of course. I can't give him a dosage yet, not until the morphine has cycled all the way out."

* * *

Kirk watched, arms folded, from his reluctant vantage point, the doorway between the CMO's office and the ward, as Spock, cradling the infant, sat down at McCoy's bedside. It had been suggested that the First Officer would be the one Bones woke up to as not to freak him out again.

Bones awoke, again extremely agitated, breathing heavily.

Spock leaned over and appeared to whisper to him, touching his face, seemingly in a caress. McCoy calmed down. Spock slid the ancient eyeglasses onto Bones' face, then placed the baby into his outstretched arms.

It was already an undeniably tender moment between the two of them before the First Officer leaned over even further and placed a kiss on the the Chief Medical Officer's lips.

Kirk gaped.

"Jim," McCoy called out, his voice mostly a croak, but at least now he seemed content, grinning at his baby, "your eyeballs are gonna fall outta their sockets!"

Jim padded into the ward, halting next to McCoy's bedside. "You look funny with glasses on and that ridiculous short haircut."

"I dunno, Jim, everybody else," he stared up at Spock. "Everybody else finds it attractive."

"Cute baby," Kirk said, to change the subject. The child had McCoy's nose and mouth, no eyebrows to speak of yet, delicate little pointed ears, (when McCoy pulled off the tiny little beanie to show him) a shock of black hair, a somber face, and huge inquisitive dark brown eyes. Just like Spock's.

"Jim, meet Myrtle Aiko McCoy Spock."

"Aiko means 'beloved' in Japanese," Spock said.

"I know that, thank you, Mr. Spock." Kirk scratched his neck. "Bones...when you're feeling up to it, you have a lot of 'splainin' to do."

"Sure thing, Jim."

* * *

"Spock," Jim said, watching Bones feed the kid with a bottle Nurse Chapel had brought him. "I'm going need you on watch, if you've been medically cleared."

"Of course Captain," Spock stood up from McCoy's bedside. "I will need to visit my quarters to change into my uniform."

"By all means."

Spock lay a hand on McCoy's shoulder, touched the baby on the head, then strode out.

"Hmm," McCoy said, watching him leave, shaking his head. He turned back to the feeding baby.

"Well, Bones. If that's what it takes to permanently wipe that scowl off of your face, putting a baby in your arms, I would have thought of that earlier."

"Believe me the scowl will come back." Speaking in a sing songly voice to the baby, McCoy added: "Just as soon as Mommy finds out how much everybody's screwed up his sickbay and then having to deal with that mountain of paperwork waiting for him in his office."

* * *

In his quarters, Spock removed his tie, his cufflinks. He removed the jacket, then his button shirt with McCoy's blood and his hat. He removed his wing tipped black and white shoes, and trousers, finally standing in his undershirt and boxer style shorts. He dug in the jacket's pockets. Inside it, a dance ticket from the Majestic Ballroom, a ballpoint pen and a handwritten note:

**'You better eat this lunch, dammit.'**

**Love,**

**L'**

In the other pocket, he discovered a photograph. He studied it. He had not remembered putting it there. Perhaps Carolyn had passed it to him when she had bailed him out of the downtown jail? The photo featured McCoy, Myrtle, Carolyn and himself at the doctor's birthday party.

He went to remove McCoy's pinky ring. He hesitated, then decided to leave it on his finger. The item might be lost, otherwise.

He set the objects gently down on his nightstand. He hung the civilian attire up in his closet. Were he McCoy, he might say the early 20th century now felt like a dream.

* * *

"You've only been gone a week, Bones."

"Yeah...that's what M'Benga said. Damnedest thing."

"What was it like, living during World War II, for nine months? Must have been awful. No modern conveniences. I stuck it out for a week in 1930. I couldn't have lasted as long as you."

McCoy looked up from the baby. "It wasn't bad. I mean, besides dealing with the numerous air raids and blackouts."

"Long Beach only had one air raid. In February."

"No, there were several. At least five to seven. You'd have to ask Spock precisely how many. Even during the birth, there was an air raid." He gulped and added: "I have to say the best part of being back in time was sharing a tiny apartment with Spock."

"You enjoyed being roommates with Spock? You're joking."

"Not at all. I liked…waiting on him. Fixing him his meals. At least I made sure he ate, right?" McCoy gave a sheepish grin. "And they used real money, telephones, pens and paper, the music on acetate disks sounded better, there was dancing, parties, the town of Long Beach had this amusement park on the water, and their vanilla malts-"

"Vanilla malts?" Kirk smiled.

"Yes. I was addicted to those things."

"Usually you're addicted to Saurian Brandy."

The smile faded into a glare. McCoy turned his attention back to the baby, who was finishing up the bottle. "I'm not addicted to booze. Ten months away from it has proved it. No reconsituted food. It was the real deal and tasty too. I'm gonna have to go on a diet, get back to my regulation weight."

"Later, when you recover."

"Of course, Jim."

"Tell me about the captors."

"Yeah, them." McCoy shook his head. "I don't know. I can't...I have no idea who they were. What they looked like, other than their creepy white gas masks, white robes, their symbols on their attire...two interlocking triangles. Spock'd been doing some rudimentary research on who they might be."

"I'm sure he's writing a report as we speak. You have months old injuries and indications of psycological and physical torture."

"I don't know why they did it…. They never asked us for anything, never said what they wanted...they didn't demand any information. It seemed like they simply wanted to experiment on me. Well, either their experiment was success or a failure to them."

"We'll find them, Bones. You know me, I always come through."

"You sure do, Jim. You sure do. I never gave up hope you'd rescue us. You know that."

"I know, Bones. I know."

Myrtle finished her formula and McCoy gently pulled the bottle out of her mouth. He set it down next to him then turned her over, protecting the neck, and laid her on his cloth covered shoulder, and began rubbing her back and patting it.

"You're a natural, Bones."

"Of course I am, Jim. It's like riding a bike."

"You have to burp a quarter Vulcan baby?" Jim teased.

"Yep."

"Wonder if Spock ever burped as a baby."

"Spock has all of the bodily functions we have. He just doesn't admit to it."

"You got to know him, quite well, didn't you, Bones."

"Yeah."

"So you two are..." Jim motioned. "Together?"

"I don't know," McCoy replied.

"It seemed like..."

"I know what it seems like, but I think...no, I know he's only doing it because of my hormone deficiency and the PTSD. To compensate for that. We did have a talk about that, before. It would be the only logical reason for his behavior."

"Is there a chance he could be in love with you?"

"No. Not at all. At least...I don't think...I don't think so."

"Alright. Just, wondering. I always thought you liked women."

McCoy smiled. "I did." He blushed. "But the sex of an individual doesn't matter, it's the person."

"You're right, Bones. And, you two seemed to be enjoying yourself," Jim noted. "Kissing."

"Jim," McCoy said, clearing his throat and changing the subject. "You know, I always piss on the twentieth century surgeons, needles and sutures, but one of them down there, saved my life."

"Not M'Benga?"

"Well, yeah, M'Benga, too. I coded during his op and he brought me back. But he informed me that he didn't perform the internal repairs nor suction the blood out, nor stitch me back up, initially. That was the other surgeon."

"So, Spock performed the C-section?"

"Yeah, he did great! And then we tried to get the placenta out, and I hemorrhaged. I should be dead! Then I woke up here. I could have gone on living with the womb and ovaries. I mean they would have affected me physically, I might have been a enunich for the remainder of my life, but I could have gone on living. So whoever it was in the twentieth century, I wish I could thank them for saving my life."

Myrtle burped, and McCoy chuckled. "Good baby."

"She never cries," Jim noted.

"No, she doesn't. She's perfect." McCoy stared down at her. "A little too perfect."

_'help me!' he pounds on the inside of the glass coffin. he presses both palms against it, inches from his face. 'help me!' _

_through the glass, he sees the little girl, dressed all in white, holding a white balloon. _

_'bye bye, spaceman!' she says. she waves._

_'bye bye,' he whispers._

_suddenly he's looking out, from inside a gas mask. _

_it's clausterphobic, he can hear his breaths..._

"Bones! BONES!" McCoy felt his friend's hand on his shoulder. "You're home. You're alright. You're gonna be okay."

"Yeah, Jim..." McCoy chuckled faintly, looked down at the now sleeping Myrtle. "Sorry...Gonna take a while and maybe some psych sessions with Dr. M'Benga, to feel like myself again."

"I know, Bones. I know."

* * *

There was a ship wide: '_Congratulations, Dr. McCoy...and Mr. Spock_' party and baby shower-organized jointly by Nurse Chapel, Mr. Chekov, Yeoman Rand and Lieutenant Uhura- supplying the good doctor (and Spock) with a 'pink' (not a white) bassinet, a huge assortment of stuffed toys, baby blankets, recieving blankets, a stroller, diapers, bottles, and anything else an infant might require. McCoy still remained in sickbay, obviously thrilled at the gifts, but grumbling about being stuck as a patient: "Nothing wrong with me! You don't keep women in the infirmary this long after giving birth! Just let me go back to my quarters!"

Tongues had been waggling. Ship's scuttlebutt moves faster than any warp drive. Within a day, Admiral Komack (Jim hadn't even contacted the man yet) had sent a deep space transmission: "What's this I hear, about your First Officer and Chief Medical Officer conceiving a child?"

Starfleet Medical, of course, wanted a hold of McCoy and the baby, wanted them at the starbase hospital to 'run tests'. But in reality it would be to study them. McCoy was the oldest human male so far to give birth. And Myrtle was the first Vulcan Human hybrid child birthed by a male.

And so, with much wrangling, Jim managed to narrowly avoid getting McCoy and the baby incarcerated there. As First Officer, Spock was required to remain on board the Enterprise, and Spock was the other parent of the child. It was necessary for Vulcans to have easy proximity to their infant children to foster strong mental 'family bonds'. Spock was indispensable as the best First Officer in the fleet. Therefore, Kirk had argued to Komack, the child and it's father and 'Mother'-as McCoy insisted on referring to himself- deserved to remain together on board. Jim could also not do without the best Chief Medical Officer in the fleet, even in an obviously reduced capacity as he would serve for some time.

Meanwhile, Kirk had focused on searching for the alien captors, based on the small clues Spock and McCoy had been able to give him. There was a strong possibility that Earth and the entire Federation was in terrible danger. Kirk was aware that time was running out, he needed to find them, stop them.

* * *

After running more tests on McCoy and the baby to make absolutely certain they were 'oh four', McCoy and the baby were released from Sickbay. "Just making absolutely sure," M'Benga had told McCoy. "I'm doing my job!"

"I know that!" McCoy had fumed. But with the twinkle in his eyes, it was obvious he had been grateful for M'Benga and Sanchez's assistance. However it didn't stop him from making a big scene upon being released: "It's about time, you damned paranoid physicians!"

"Bones," Jim said. "Should you swear so much in front of the baby?"

"Probably not."

Spock studied the bulkhead ceiling.

"Spock," McCoy asked him. "Would you like to carry our daughter back to my quarters?"

"Of course," Spock said. McCoy flashed him a slightly flirtatious glance then gently passed over the infant.

Kirk rolled his eyes. "Then after that, Spock, I need you up on the bridge...uh...later today, when you're ready. Beta shift?"

"Affirmative, Captain."

"Oh, don't look at me like that, Mr. Spock. I've assigned you light duty. Put you on half watch. So you can spend much of your time with your kid. At least temporarily."

"Captain, I am perfectly capable of fulfilling my duties."

"That baby sure is cute. Am I the Godfather? And her uncle? I think I should make that an order."

"Jim," McCoy said, impatiently bouncing on his heels. "We're heading over to my quarters! We'll see ya, huh?"

* * *

"Ahhh, finally, the old cabin. Just as cramped as our apartment, eh Spock? Computer raise temperature to 90 degrees Farenheint."

"Farenheint?" Spock raised an eyebrow.

McCoy whispered: "Habit. Do you miss that drafty old place? With the...broken window you repaired? Eh, Spock?" He chuckled and looked at Spock holding the sleeping bundle of joy and felt the sudden blast of warm air. "Goodness, gracious. I'm gonna melt, but Myrtle needs it that hot if she's gonna live in here."

"And I."

McCoy blushed and nodded. "Yes." He cleared his throat and glanced over at the corner. "Look at that mountain of baby stuff. Just like...before..."

Spock noted the new basinette. "Pink."

"Of course it is. Unleaded paint."

"Indeed."

"Why don't you...uh...put her in it? Test it out...see if the basinette is in working order."

"Why would it not be?"

"Fine, then keep on holding her. You look really comfortable...being a daddy."

"I am, rather. I had not thought I would take to it so well, but I have."

"Like a duck to water." McCoy laughed. "You look so strange in your uniform. I got used to you...in uh...early twentieth century civvies."

"And I, you."

McCoy glanced down at himself. "Yeah, but i'm still wearing my 'sickbay inmate' jumpsuit. Thought they'd never cut me loose. At this point, I'm gonna need a size larger uniform. No more eyeglasses." He touched the bridge of his nose. "Maybe I'll wear them sometimes, when I get nostalgic. Spock? Why doesn't she ever cry? Is that normal?"

"For a Vulcan child, yes. They tend to be quite content...due to the family bond."

"She's bonded to you?"

"She is. I did not think it feasible, as she is only a quarter Vulcan, but it was."

"I'm...a little jealous of that...I have to admit." McCoy caressed her cheek. "How is she doing?"

"She is extremely satisfied and happy."

"Is she? I am glad. I'm gonna have to go by body language, you know...to notify me when she's hungry, needs to be changed. Her cries, if she ever does so. Are you sure she's okay?"

"Yes."

McCoy stood up and walked over to the drinks cabinet. "Would you like a brandy, Mr. Spock?"

Spock sat down on the couch. He gently shifted the now dozing infant over to the crook of his arm so that he had a free hand. "Yes, I believe so."

McCoy poured them both drinks, brought them over, sitting down next to Spock on the couch. He pulled up one side of the baby's knitted pink hat. "I can't stop looking at these adorable little pointy ears." He traced one finger over the shell. "Wait till I tell Joanna she has a sister. I'm gonna contact them, as soon as we're close enough to Earth's quadrant to send a transmission."

"Yes. I have already notified my parents, they are currently on Episilon IV."

They were silent for a few moments, until McCoy said: "I can't believe we have a baby. You and I, Mr. Spock have offspring. Together. Never in a million years would I ever have thought that would happen."

"Agreed. Even while presented with irrefutable physical evidence of such, this child, this is indeed, difficult to believe."

"Jim thinks you and I appear dazed."

"We have been through quite a lot, have we not?"

McCoy nodded. "Uh, Spock...how are we going to do this? Co-parenting, I mean...you can have as much access to her as you want...you can take her to Vulcan to visit her grandparents and family. I mean I love her dearly but I'm not about to hog her. And I mean, you're gonna want time with her aboard ship, and you can have as much time as you want, you know...I uh..."

"May I teach her the Vulcan language?"

"Of course. She's your daughter, too. But," McCoy smiled, coyly, "only if you teach me, too."

"I would be delighted."

McCoy glanced up in surprise at Spock's choice of words. "You would?"

Spock held up his glass. "Cheers."

McCoy clinked it with his. "Oh, you know how to do it, huh? What or who are we toasting? Little Myrtle?"

"As well as Carolyn and the late Myrtle."

"They were both really something, Spock. Fine women. I wonder what became of Miss Carolyn Meagher."

"She bailed me out of jail."

"You mean you didn't break out?"

"The bars proved exceedingly strong. No guards in the immediate vicinity."

"No one around to work your vulcan voodoo on?"

"Carolyn proved much quicker and efficient." In the crook of Spock's arm, her head carefully protected, Myrtle sighed. McCoy chuckled.

They both took sips of their respective drinks. Spock leaned over slightly to place his glass on the adjacent table. McCoy assisted him by taking it from him and setting it down. "Computer, play some music, it's a little too quiet in here."

**'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy**' came on.

"You did that, you bastard, didn't you?" McCoy said, mildly. "It sounds better on a 78 record doesn't it?"

"Affirmative."

"I see nothing wakes up this kid. This is good practice, wait till she gets to listen to all those awful red alerts."

"She was born during an air raid siren."

"That she was, Mr. Spock, that she was."

After a few moments of listening to the music, it finished. Spock stood up. "I will put her to bed, now."

"If she'll fit in there, with all those stuffed animals."

McCoy shifted some of them over, picked up a clown doll. "Uh no," he said, quickly shoving it into a drawer. He scooped up a stuffed Sehlat toy complete with fangs. "Jim, I presume?"

Spock nodded and laid her down. McCoy snuggled the sehlat next to her, then a warm blanket over the top.

Together, they walked back over to the couch.

But before Spock could sit down again, suddenly McCoy lunged forward, sliding his arms around the Vulcan, hugging him tightly. "We're home." He nuzzled his face into Spock's shoulder. Spock's own arms came around him. "My God, Spock...we made it..._we're home_! We're home, right? I'm not imagining things, am I?" Still in Spock's arms he searched the Vulcan's face.

"This is real."

McCoy laid his head on Spock's shoulder, then suddenly drew back, out of the embrace. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I keep...pawing on you so much...you uh, you've been very accomodating, you know... more affectionate and I appreciate that, I really do, but..."

"Leonard," Spock said. He pulled McCoy to him again by the scruff of the neck. "I do believe you are babbling." McCoy suddenly felt the Vulcan's warm mouth on his.

McCoy broke the kiss and drew back. "Spock."

"Shhhh." Spock pulled him to him again. "Myrtle's parents belong together, do they not?"

McCoy pulled back yet again. "So this is because of the baby? Spock you don't have to!"

"Would you mind not pulling away from me?"

"Spock...you don't..."

"Leonard. I have...been attracted to you for some time."

"Me?"

Spock nodded. "Umm. Sharing an apartment with you only enhanced my desire for you," he admitted.

McCoy stopped fighting it, tilted his head to deepen the kiss. He moaned in Spock's clutches, till after long moments they broke apart. "Holy shit." His eyes widened at the familiar feeling down south.

"What is it?"

"I have a..." He'd felt the tightening and the tingling but glanced down just to make sure. "I have an erection," he hissed. "Goddamn, I have an erection!"

"One would think that should not be so unusual, being as we have engaged in kissing."

"No...this is the first time in ten months...that I...oh my God! I thought I lost them forever! I couldn't get hard since the kidnapping. M'Benga, he worked his magic on me! Holy hell!"

"Are you going to lose conciousness?"

"No, don't be a smart ass. Do you mind...uh..." McCoy blushed. "It ain't gonna go away on it's own. Do you mind watching the baby while I uh...take a shower?"

"Yes, I do mind."

McCoy's face fell. "Oh."

Spock pulled him closer again, by the shoulders, so that the erection now pressed into his thigh, in turn McCoy could feel Spock's very noticable erection poking into his. He gulped as Spock replied: "I mind you engaging in solo masterbation at this very moment, when I am perfectly capable of assisting you. Of...oh how do you humans put it? Making you come. That is, if you are able to engage in sexual activity."

McCoy groaned as a wave of desire hit him. He yanked Spock over to the bed by the wrist, not stopping until they both fell onto it with a thump. "I'm able."

"Are you certain you are sufficiently recovered?"

"I'm fine, Spock. Believe me, I am fine."

They lay side by side, smashed up against one another, mouths microns apart, then moving together with a wet, messy kiss. Spock palmed McCoy's length through the sickbay jumpsuit. McCoy could feel the heated hand right through the fabric. "Ohhh," McCoy moaned. "Ohhhh. You keep that up, not gonna last very long."

Spock suddenly sat up on his haunches and began unfastening McCoy's jumpsuit. McCoy moaned again as he maneuvered himself out of it.

Spock paused at the sight of McCoy's nude body, staring at his midsection.

McCoy sat up on his elbows as Spock ran a finger down the insision scar right above the pubic hair, seemingly entranced.

"You did that," McCoy said, proudly. "You delivered our baby."

"You are not going to have this erased?"

"Hell no, are you kidding me? It's a badge of honor. You don't want me to get rid of it, do you?"

"No. I prefer it to remain. I was..." Spock gulped.

"Oh hell, Spock, come here." McCoy yanked him towards him again.

* * *

It was the shortest blow-job ever in his personal history, but by far the most emotional one he'd ever experienced. He surreptitiously wiped a tear from his eye.

* * *

McCoy sat in his office, holding Myrtle, scowling at the PADD.

"See Myrtle, I told you, everybody messed up Mommy's sickbay while he was gone, didin't I tell you that was gonna happen, Pumpkin? Didn't I say that, 'nobody around here bothers to chart worth a crap'." He took the stylus, punched a command and closed up the files on the PADD.

Myrtle blinked her huge brown eyes at him.

"You hungry? Come on, I'll get your bottle ready." He retrieved the bottle in the synthesiser. He sat back down, and began feeding her. "You know when you were born in 1942, they didn't have these fancy synthesisers, folks had to warm up bottles in a pot of water on the stove. Can you believe that?"

Myrtle looked at him as she drank her formula.

"You have got the most gorgeous brown eyes, just like your daddy, don't tell him I said that, though." He glanced up and smiled at the recently entered Spock. "Hello."

"Hello." Spock folded his arms.

"Thought you were on shift."

"Meal break."

"Oh. Were you going get something to eat from Officer's mess, or do you want to join me here?"

"I wished to speak with you."

"Hang on, let me finish feeding the little sweetheart, here." He gently slid the teat of the bottle from her mouth, set it on the desk, then shifted her over to his shoulder, placing a small towel underneath her, rubbing her back.

Spock came around the desk, laid a hand on the infant for a few moments He moved back and sat down across from them. "I thought perhaps I should return your ring." He began to twist off the gold pinky ring.

"Oh...that. You know Spock. You should just keep it. I got so used to you wearing it, and you ain't going nowhere, right?"

"Affirmative."

"You dump me and I get mother's ring back, alright?"

"Affirmative. But Dr. McCoy, what ring shall you wear? You were rather enamored of this one."

"I don't know, I guess I'll have to get me another..." He halted as Spock held up another gold ring, seemingly produced out of thin air. "What the hell is that?"

"A ring."

"I see that, Mr. Spock." He studied the Vulcan's face as Spock reached over and slid it onto his left hand, on his ring finger.

"I need to discuss with you the concept of Vulcan marital bonds."

McCoy shook his head and snorted as he continued rubbing the baby's back. "You son of a bitch. What did Jim have to say about this?"

"He literally spat out his coffee."

"I'll bet. We're having an Earth ceremony, along with the Vulcan one."

"Of course."

"Spock?"

"Yes, Leonard?"

"I love you."

"As I love you, and the baby...always." Spock held up two fingers.

McCoy reached over, with the free hand and touched his to Spock's. "There's no place like home," he whispered. "Right, Spock?"

"Indeed."

Myrtle chose that moment to let out a huge belch. McCoy burst out laughing.

"How like her mother," Spock said.

* * *

**THE END**

Thanks for reading!

This is the story's official ending. However, soon there will be an optional alternate ending: 'what if they never returned home?'


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